BTS

Film Out

April 03, 2021

 


Letting go is one thing; but letting go of something you believed you never have to is a different kind of heartbreak. And you'd think that's painful enough. Learning how to be at peace with the thought that's all that is left are just memories — that is where everything hurts. 

But we settle with that. We protect these images in our heads so dearly because that is the only way to keep what was real. What was light. What was love. 

Maybe that's why history is so important; because it's a shared piece of our lives that can never be taken away by anyone that comes after us. 

And maybe that's why nostalgia was invented; because it's the closest way to remember the piece of ourselves that got lost, too, when they decided to leave. 
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GOOD DREAM

June 05, 2020




I wish to tell the world we made it. 
But you and I were a dream short-lived. 

If that was the only lifetime we have, I would spread all the love I have of you too thickly until I cover all the vast spaces between then and now. 

If that was the only lifetime we have, I would hide in the sunset and and squeeze myself in the last minute before we parted ways. 

If that was the only lifetime we have, I would scatter pieces of me in the night sky, in the silence, and in the long ride home so I could stay and live a bit longer in this only lifetime we'll ever share. 

You were a good dream, the kind that appears one night in a thousand years.
I would live in it if I could. 

But we were meant to live a thousand other nights more. 

I can only hope of a lifetime where we try a little harder; where I could be right for you and you could be better for me. 

Until then, you will always be my good dream. 
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THAT SUNDAY

July 01, 2019

Last Sunday, I was back at our place. Your memories I thought I've already buried deep in my head resurfaced all too suddenly. The scars of our excruciating ending sting a bit. Surprisingly, a part of me still clearly remembers that day.

It was also a Sunday. I looked quite different. I still had my long, disturbing, black hair and still wore braces I wished were gone sooner. I am not sure if the streets then were quiet and empty, or it was just because I only laid so much of my eyes on you that I never noticed how we were walking in between the hustle and bustle of the city. On that particular day, we thought spontaneity could also be our thing. It could have been, I'm certain. 

 We set foot on new places for the first time together. It felt amazing— having been able to experience actual firsts with you. I was able to visit old, familiar sites but now with a hand to hold. That Sunday, I was all yours and you were all mine. It was a bit strange to have you hold me as if my bones would fall broken once you let go of it. You never not held my hands that day. You gently rubbed my skin with your fingers, clasped my tiny hands tighter, and gently kissed it whenever you had the chance. I held you just the same, or so I thought, but yours was always better in every way. You were effortless in all the things you do and I could not even in the slightest bit compare. Maybe that is why you let go of mine eventually. 

That weekend was clear and bright so we had a great view while eating lunch. I loved it. I ate chicken. You had ribs. I should have ordered the same as yours so you didn't have to share a slab or two with me. We both liked it so much. One thing we have in common is that we love eating, and food in general. I still remember our first date that involved a lot of salmon sashimi, our favorite. I also have fond memories of finishing family meals by ourselves and randomly going on Japanese eat-all-you-can as if being together was already reason enough for a buffet celebration on any day. That Sunday with you was equally priceless. I happily sat there in front of you, watched you relished and slowly smothered your smoked meat, and died a little when you genuinely smiled at me right after. I wish I could have that everyday. You looked at me like I was the most precious, most valuable person in your life at that time. At least, that's how I felt. 

We went to Church. I thanked God for the hundredfold of blessings— one of which is most absolutely you— and the many wonderful, incredible days because of you're doing. I talked to God about sunshine, solace, music, and warmth. I talked about you. That Sunday, I was sure of you. I was so certain I wanted all of you in full daylight and when half the globe is fast asleep. I wanted more of our early mornings, and waffles, and maple syrup. I wanted more of Marvel, stolen kisses, hand-holding, and cheesy romantic movies with you. I wanted more of our drunken and late nights all sealed with a kiss. I want a lot more of it.

 I secretly looked at you in between moments of silence. I want that forever. You were a living, breathing reminder that all is well in the world. It would not be the last of our little adventures, I told myself. I thought of the countless daydreams I've had of us trekking mountains, catching waves, and watching the moon and the stars at night by the beach. I've never been happier. I prayed to God I never have to lose you. Not ever.

That Sunday was fleeting. But it felt endless. I was recording every moment, as if I already knew those pieces would have been the only ones left of what was good. I caught you playing with the clouds. You looked so happy. I could literally watch you do it all day long and never get tired. I took a photo of the thick fog covering vast fields of green, and big cotton clouds chasing after each other, to forever remember the comfort of the cold and quiet time with you. 

I thought a lot about you and I. That Sunday, we were perfect together. You and I were under pink skies— I could not imagine such a moment with anyone else than you. It was beautiful. We had coffee, talked about the future, and watched sundown together. I wished that Sunday was forever. I had the road, the cold, the view, the golden hour, and all of you. I wished it had not ended so fast. I wish we didn't. 

 It was quiet on the way home. We listened to Michael Bublé. I had your arms wrapped around me. You wanted to stay a little longer. I wished you stayed forever. 

My love, I wish to tell the world we made it. But that Sunday and every other good memory of the short time we've been together is all what I have left. And a part of me will always remember. 

 Always. Even if you couldn't. Even if you wouldn't. 
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FINAL FAREWELL

December 31, 2018

I would never know if putting down these thoughts constantly running in my head day and night is the best thing to do. But I am doing it, anyway, with walls crashed and all guards down. It is a rare case that you chance upon my space but if you do, in the slightest shot that you are actually reading this, here I am, bold and truthful, with my unfiltered musings. Bab, this is for you. 

How are you, my love? It has been a while since the last time we had a real conversation and that moment is still so vividly clear in my mind. There is this strange comfort I get from you and, surprisingly, despite being some sort of strangers yet again, you still had it. I remember how we spontaneously talked about your family and school and the latest events in our lives, and how we exchanged meaningful glances until the wee hours of the morning. If I only knew that would have been the last, I would have not just cried in front of you. I would have probably gathered every bit of insane courage to finally tell you everything I have wanted long enough to say. 

I miss you, that is all.

For the longest time, that is somewhat everything I wanted you to know. And I really wish I knew hundreds of different versions to say I miss you, so that every single time that I did, which is probably almost every single day since that very fateful day you decided to leave, I could have subtly told you how much your absence feels like a certain part of my being I never knew was there went suddenly missing. 

Solace and warmth and you— pretty much the same. I ran to your arms to feel what home feels like from a person's embrace and I had to simply look at you to console my troubled heart. You were my happy place for a while. I saw your heart in numerous unfathomable ways no one else did. You opened yourself to me like I was an old, familiar soul in your life; spoke to me in your own language, and let me into your world without I having to forget about my own universe. I have always wondered what it is in you that made love so warm and beautiful and possible for such a short, remarkable season. You made it feel like it was always the first kiss, like it was always the first hug, like it was always the first date, like it was always the first in everything. 

See? It was actually not difficult to fall head over heels for you. You made loving every bit of you so easy. I could go on and on and talk about the stars and music and words and the things I love so effortlessly, and end up proudly reciting a monologue about all the goodness I see in you.

But like all great things, we must come to an end. We fell apart— not the slow burden type, rather one that is rapid and punishing and excruciating. Seven months after and, here I am, still crazy wondering why. Some nights, I still get haunted by so many what if's and memories of what could have been if only we did what should have been. Other nights, I had to comfort myself with self-sufficing explanations because I am probably never getting answers from you ever. But most nights, I just prayed for strength and patience so I can still hold on a little bit longer to what we were and what we could have been, even if it meant hoping for something I once thought was worth it and waiting for something that is coming not anytime soon. 

I was not the kind to give up easily on someone who made my days brighter and lonely days bearable, especially not on you. But I was already too exhausted to survive a battle I started that was not supposed to exist in the first place. I got sick waiting for you to do the right thing. I got tired of making excuses for the things you did and failed to do. For what it's worth, I am letting it all go now. I am finally letting you go.

You were my 2018, love, and I can't thank you enough for it. It is quite embarrassing to admit that you were not just a mere highlight but also actually very much all of it. The year that was has been mostly and literally all about you and how much you made me genuinely happy even my eyes beam of it; and about how much you broke my heart and soul even the creases in my forehead ache whenever I go mad thinking where it went wrong. It was a bit awful and unforeseen what happened to us but, strangely and to be quite honest, I would be forever damned if we didn't happen at all. 

Ours was ephemeral, but it was sweet and blissful and romantic. It was a love that went downhill so incredibly fast without warning; I drowned from it. But, it was real, and I felt it in ways more than one. It was the kind of happy I never knew I wanted and needed so badly. For these, and many inexplicable and unfathomable reasons more, I am truly, absolutely— and still— eternally grateful. 

Knowing you totally changed my life forever. Best believe I will still keep the version of you that is wonder and love and kindness because that is how I would want to remember you for always. I am still rooting for you and your dreams. I am still behind you silently cheering for you. Wherever you are and whatever you do in this lifetime, I hope you are always well and happy. As long as you are, I am too.  

You will always hold a special place in my heart, Bab. Until we meet again. 
                                              
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YOU ARE MY STAR

November 15, 2018

When love died, I set it out in the universe— in the infinite meadows of light and cosmic dust; in the cold, deep faces of heaven; and in the calm, glorious shadows of the moon. I let it wander the orbits of listless planets and collide with rocks and angel mists, until it finally explodes and spontaneously breaks out of its rigid walls. I spread it out too thickly like a ravaging wildfire, able to radiate its warmth far and wide, and silently reach the vast spaces between the stars. 

I built it a monument in the celestial sphere where it settled and found its peace, a promised eternity after death. It is now part of the gleaming tapestry of stars, an unnamed constellation but with a familiar glow vividly painted by you, gracing my earth with its remaining luminous night after night. 

You are my star, the kind that appears one night in a thousand years. A borrowed hope from a wounded fate, I held you so tightly in my bare and grateful palms, fervently praying our light and dreams and love never slip through my fingers. But I can only hope to keep its glow safe in my pockets, because like ashes to which human breath returns, I had to give it back to where it rightfully belongs— to the skies where it will never rust; to the universe where it will always ablaze; and to the heavens where it will live without end. 

Since then, I adored the solace of the night. Whenever I gaze upon the immeasurable glittering sky, it always feels like traveling in light years— remembering how once upon a time, that glitter was in your eyes and they were mine; beaming and flaring so beautifully, it held my spirits high. It crawled in my skin and crept in my bones; seeped through my veins, pierced straight through my heart, and dived right into my chambers; until it lovingly burned my soul — it was love. You are love, my sweetheart; and just like the most massive stars, ours was the shortest-lived. 

It climbed up the skies, traveled aimlessly, battled celestial wars, walked the infinite and the beyond, and finally sought its paradise. Love found an afterlife. In that galaxy, it will last— sprawling with gases and dust and countless stars— faded, yet somehow still burning bright, giving all what it had left to the skies, to stay there forever, never to face oblivion. 

How comforting it is to know that our love will always be here— still with the same flame, yet now tarnished with infinity, immortalized, and timeless— and all I have to do is look up and wait for the starry night. 
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MAHAL PA KITA

August 31, 2018

Mahal, 
isa pa.
Hindi pa sapat
ang oras at araw;
hindi pa tapos
 ang tadhana at langit;
hindi pa pagod
ang puso at isip.

Mahal,
kaya ko pa
maghintay,
at umasa,
at lumaban—
kahit mag-isa,
kahit wala na,
kahit talo na.

Mahal, 
ikaw pa rin
ang kahapon,
at bukas,
at ngayon;

ikaw pa rin
ang hinahanap,
at panalangin,
at pangarap;

ikaw pa rin
ang aking buwan,
at araw,
at bituin;

ikaw pa rin
ang tahanan 
at uuwian;
ang iiyakan
at hahagkan;
ang minahal,
at minamahal

Mahal,
dito lang ako
maghihintay,
at aasa,
at lalaban;
magmamahal,
at mas magmamahal—
nang mas tapat,
mas buo,
at mas totoo.

Mahal, 
isa pa.
Kaya ko pa.
Ikaw pa rin.
Dito lang ako.

Mahal pa kita.
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THE END?

August 16, 2018

It's 3AM and a bit lonely. Like how most sleepless nights have been for the past few weeks. Normally, this incredibly painful combination of solitary and agony would allow me to author the most personal and most heartfelt statements about grief and sorrow and longing and love. But tonight was entirely different.

Odd. I can not write about us.

Not that our story was meaningless. Nor did I forget about how it all began. It was utterly impossible not to recall that very night. I remember the first time you held my hand; how my sweaty, nervous palms perfectly clasped with yours, and how, for that very moment, everything became suddenly motionless. The only thing that mattered was you. I still remember the look in your eyes. That pair that speaks volumes right through you was my absolute favorite. It was difficult not to fall in love with that. Your smile that hooked my heart and soul had kept me going. I know all is well in the world because I have you.

I remember how I have always looked forward to running into your arms by the end of every week, only to tell you about the little, petty, scary, funny details of my everyday.  It was frustrating how much we miss each other as soon as we part ways. I was only either with you or waiting to be with you again. Time together, no matter how short and quick, consoled my troubled heart and made me forget of what was before you and me. Coming home to you have always felt like the world is ours, and ours alone. 

But I also remember clearly how it fell apart. I remember the exact day we stopped talking, and how, on the succeeding days, I silently pleaded all the stars and gods there are to hear your voice for one last time. I saw all of it crashed right in front of me. It was terrifying. Painful. Heartbreaking. Without fair warning, you were gone. I lost you, without knowing completely how and why, just like that.

It feels like only yesterday when this emotional roller coaster that is pure bliss and sudden bitter downfall happened. See, it is impossible to not find the right words to write an ode to a man I have loved and lost. It could go a long stretch, to be honest. But with this deafening silence, with this lonesome, with this heavy heart, and with this hopeless desire, I choose to not seek the words that fit. Just not yet. 

I can write endings. But clearly, I still could not start phrasing ours. I want the perfect words to flow from a grateful and humbled and learned heart, and not from a heart that is still aching and breaking and hurting. I want our ending written painfully beautiful, one that is still grounded in love. In gratitude. In hope. 

I can not write about us. Just not yet. For until now, for what it's worth, I still end our story with baka pwede pa. 

I just need a little more time to have the courage to catch the words floating in mid-air. Let me first gather my excess feelings I left all over the place. Maybe just a few more weeks— a few more days— to heal myself and finally accept the truth that this could have been a story that deserves to have a better ending; but now it is a story probably best to end this way. That the next time I would sit down and pen the mere possible joyful endings, all of those are just entries to what could have been and what we would never be.