a puzzle piece that just might fit

The [Too-soon] Tale of the Swordsman and the Shaman

a: "If I do as you do and let things fall where they will...
....I fear they might fall where I don't want them to."
r: "...Then they will fall where they will, if it is their rightful place."
***

A part of her believes him, believes that if things are not meant to happen, then they will not. But a stronger voice inside tells her she can will some things to go her way. That somehow, in their cluttery world of strangers, dangers, and quick matches, she can make him see that what bond they had formed was true, that it can transcend the virtual world; and that in the vast desert of masked beings, he is the oasis of truth she can always come home to.

But the Knight decided to let things be and just watch and wait for things to fall into their places. The Shaman understood it to mean that some things, like feelings, should not be rushed into. She despaired over the idea of letting Time do its own thing. She knows Time just passes; it's not an active entity that knows what's best to do to a naive Shaman who is afraid and made weak by her feelings for the Knight.

The Shaman has no single image of a perfect man, for such a man might never exist. For that reason, she takes them as they are. She has met her share of good people online, intelligent and funny people, but none as irresistible and unpretentious as as this Knight. When she's in need of a good conversation, he's there. He sees through her at times, especially when her thoughts are in a mess and she's trying to organize the thoughts by relating them to him. The Shaman and the Knight don't always agree about things, which is good because they learn from each other some novel ways of looking at things. The Knight doesn't give straight answers when the Shaman badly needs them, but it's cool with her because she knows he would never take back his words in the future. He tolerates her playing around, and a part of her is delighted whenever he shows the child in him, the one that sees the humor and the fun in common things. They both turn bloody red in each others' screens during PK Period, and she can't come near him without hitting him with her stick; but even then, they still stand beside each other comfortably and talk about things that matter until PK Period ends and another one comes. They went for a quest once, though there was no way they could party up, and gawd, does he run fassttt with those glowing shoes! (and he insists that he's fast even without it). The chat window may be filled with childish bickerings (where she bickers at times) but it's always a relief for her to see yellow strands of words that come from him in the chat window, because those words make sense. One thing leads to another, because who can help but like such a man?

***

In love, they say, there are only two types of fools: those who search for love, and those who wait for it to happen.

Maybe the Shaman hasn't outgrown the curious, adventurous little girl in her, the one that pushes her to search through all the people she meets, hoping she'll be lucky enough to find one chance---one shot---at finding true feelings. Or maybe, as her bestfriend told her, she just has too much love to give but have nowhere to place it. She knows this makes her vulnerable, but she has her values and her rational side, and both keep her actions in check.

Now she knows she can stop searching. She already found the person she's looking for. But he is the "waiting" sort of guy. The four-year gap between them in real life accounts for lots of things: he has learned to be patient, and he is patient; she, on the other hand, tends to be impulsive. He can wait but she can't. She needed to know if it's already time for her to start searching again, while he is offering a better arrangement: that of friendship.

She is not the type of person who waits for things to happen, and patience may be one virtue she lacks. But right now, she cannot trust her emotions and she is unsure of many things. At a time like this, when she can't trust herself to make sound decisions, she can only rely on him to choose what's best to do for the both of them. And he has chosen waiting. He has chosen Time to be the verdict.

And so, with him, she waits. She trusts his path so she treads on it, too. Maybe along the way, something will come up which will make her stronger and wiser so she can break free from depending on his perspective of things. She knows he wants that for her, too. But right now, while more pieces are yet to fall and fit into the great puzzle, she decides to walk the path of letting be. The path of Time is bearable for her, because she's walking it with him.

***

If there is one thing she is certain of right now, that would be this: that she genuinely likes him. The game created the atmosphere for it, to that she agrees; but she also believes that the real person behind the Knight is radiating from within that Knight character. She has no confusions about it. She likes the person, HIM, and not the sword-totting warrior-student. In her eyes, the character becomes him, and there are no facades, no illusions. She likes what little and what much she knows of him. Discovering more about him would be as much an adventure as the thrill of the game is.

***

A feeling like this, the bliss and complexity, the excitement and simplicity of this, need not last forever. It just had to be true. She doesn't harbor illusions of someday realizing this...thing...in real life, like meeting one day in the flesh to try to see if what works online can work in the complexity of real life as well. Only Time can reveal that. She knows things cannot go on forever, but she wants to keep their bond for as long as she could. She'd rather have a go for it, than someday blame her testy, cowardly self for not giving her self a chance at something that comes as rarely as the blue moon and four-leaved clovers.-

Of the Child-Self, and Dreams that Never Die

> sir ben would surely have my fingers for breakfast if he learned i posted this on my blogspot for everyone to see.>_<. however, since i don't suppose there are as much people out there crazy over blogspot as they are over friendster beta, i guess what i'm doing's still safe >.< hey yana, i know you're the only one who reads my blogs so don't tell on me! <> sir ben was one of the youngest instructors i've had; the year i entered the PF was the year he graduated, and this e-mail was a two-months-late response to his e-mail way back in 2nd year.>_<.

Hello po!


Thought i could disturb you a bit, since it's summer and you can't be doing much. then again, you might be. oh well.

Thanks po pala uli for the friendly-talk last time. prior to that, i was cooped for a week with my sibs and had a big need for a good conversation.

You told me about idealism, and how ideals sometimes (or rather, oftentimes) clash with reality.

And months ago, you wrote about dreams and passions.

Attached to this e-mail is an essay i wrote for my Comm.1 class, which i took three semesters ago. i edited it some, thinking PDI might find it print-worthy (i submitted it but i never found out if it ever got published, and i honestly do not care right now, because i submitted it partly out of daring to toe the lines of my percieved boundaries...what matters is that i did it, that i did something i've been itching to do. the act of submitting it was my end). i've been planning to mail this to you for months now, following my near brush with dismissal from the school. Or rather, following the thing you wrote about dreams and passions. it was a wonderful piece, really. i've once dreamt of becoming an astronaut, too, and i could relate to the encyclopedia thing. and i even dreamt of becoming a PMA cadette, a lawyer like my handsome uncle, a newscaster (i even vowed to become the first Igorot newscaster!), a lady painter, a journalist for the National Geographic magazine, and a world-renowned novelist, among other teenee wishes (like becoming the reincarnation of Buddha Himself---in female form, of course). Anyway, the most striking part of the mail was the last portion, where you mentioned me, followed by something like "and to all those who are sleeping, but not dreaming".

***

Have you ever cried over something but can't really explain why you're crying over it? crazy, right? i managed to stop myself from bawling (well, bawling's not exactly the term, but crying in front of a blinking monitor-machine in a public place felt like a crime at that time, so i practically had to hold on to the computer table---the hardest and heaviest thing i could hold onto. somehow, the tight gripping had the effect of psychologically shutting tears.) i can't explain why the simple statement struck so many of my strings at once. once i was clearheaded, i thought about the whole thing over. i can't say i reacted the way i reacted because the statement was true, that i lost the child in me that once made grandiose dreams both attainable and not. i tried forgetting the whole thing, since i know it was a well-meant message, and how i reacted to it is something i am responsible of; besides, from where i'm standing, the message was meant to challenge me. and i can only be challenged by people i respect.

but at the same time i cannot help getting angry. one, i rarely broadcasted my dreams, my ambitions, to anyone. so nobody has the right to say that i do not have something far ahead to look forward to and strive hard for. Maybe i gave the impression of a listless existence: one devoid of motivations or drives or reasons. but impressions are fleeting; i am more than a bundle of somebody else's impressions. i wouldn't have cared one bit about your---or anybody else's----impression of me. but then you happened to be a brother and a mentor, someone i look up to.

***

I know that many things can die within a person. ideals, for one, die. they usually fade away with age. but i know myself well enough to know that the child in me had not. yes, i lost my drive to study, and the absence of that motivation was a terrible blow to myself; however, during that time when diploma, degree, and career---everything related to my studies---mattered little, another part of me awakened: my child-self, the one that dreams of literary distinction, of staggering success, of seeing myself brandishing proofs of success despite a lack of college degree (at that time i felt certain i would get kicked out). i acted on that new motivation by writing profusely. i dug out my best essays and sought ways to get them published. i wrote a poem on innocence, of a little girl who crushed butterflies in her small palms, innocently guiltless, knowing the butterflies would pick themselves up again. a few months after, i read this poem over the radio while sitting with poets, all of whom were Palanca recipients except for Ma'am Precy, the university Chancellor. And i'm not yet through. i'm up to join a playwrighting workshop this May. and i know that will not be the end of it.

***

i'm a good gurl now, studying like the rest of the student populace. most of us are like cows tethered to a tree, grinding the cud generously provided for by the system. i once stopped chewing the cud when i saw the cowshit surrounding us. it was unbearable, chewing cud and shitting it. i know you know how frustrating that is. and i'm glad that you are the teacher and i am the student and it's not the other way around...because had i been in your place, i wouldn't have had the wisdom and courage to persist.

***

now i'm back with the herd. not grudgingly, no. but now i'm also acting on something else. and i'm eyeing something far ahead.

***

so there, i've written everything i've been wanting to say for so long now. know that i am no longer angry and that i look up to you still, especially after seeing you perform (headbanging and all!) the "Hoy, soksay akooo!" song with all the youthful zest of of a ten-year-old dreamer. i guess the child within us all never really dies.

***

the essay. i attached it here so i could share with you one of my passions. i hope you could relate to it, as you once had the predilection for creative writing.

thank you po uli. when you thanked me for something i wasn't aware i did, i felt uncomfortable. now i know how you must have felt, because, as you can see, you've been a blessing to me, too. in disguise, of course.

thanks again. i know i took much of your time, and i'm glad i did. tee-hee!


ciao!

abby ;)

daring

>excerpt from an e-mail<


having realized how roller-coaster-y (webster, forgive me) the ride of daring is, i think i'll dare to do some more...like actually volunteering for Pahinungod even if my ma thinks i can't (for lotsa mama-reasons that boils down to "you still cannot survive the adult-world without my guidance!") and my pa thinks it's dangerous (for lotsa military papa-reasons ranging from rapists to NPA to Al Qaeda Terrorist Group). hell, teaching young'uns is the spice of my life! it's my passion. it's what i dream of doing till post-menopause. it's my "how" of "feeding (my) body and soul", as de Quiros puts it. how could perverts and the inability to manage money keep me from doing that? right? (i know you must be tired of this talk; you're free to leave this window when i'm boring you already). and yes, doing my childish dream of going to GMA-7 or ABS-CBN to meet my favorite anime dubbers!!! remember when you told me this thing you and ate carla did before, riding the bus and going to the beach, getting drunk in the process, just so you could watch the sun rise? it's a wow! i might do a thing like that someday, but the thing i'm writing here about are things i'd do even if nobody else would like to come with me, even if i have to do them on my own. like going to TV stations and be one of those screaming fans i despise, except this time, i'm gonna scream,like a bonafide fan could, for the unnoticed and unpopular dubbers! i want to know what kind of people they are, they who lend their voices to the Babylonic babble of the Chinese, the Japanese and the Koreans, and make them sound so Pinoy and so-kababayan. there's Montreal Repuyan who dubs three to five characters in a single episode of anime; Vincent Coronel (and i'm not even sure if this is his real name) who is so far my biggest crush (!!!!!!), Fourth Lee (the voice i'm sick of), Miles Sanchez (whom i seldom hear nowadays), the gurl who does Charlene/Jericho/young Jeremiah/assorted characters in Ghost Fighters, Eugene himself---the dubber's name is Eri Resurreccion, whose aaahhhh's and uhhhhh's and other breathing sounds he makes had so far been the number one on my list of aaahhh's and uhhh's (remember that you're reading a fanatic's testimonies; the aaahh's and uhhh's list is but one of the many. and i can actually enumerate the characters these dubbers have dubbed, and tell, from hearing a single line read, who is dubbing a particular charcter on TV. i haven't found anyone who could match my fanaticism and devotion to these people, adn i take pride in that. my gawd, they've found themselves a number-one fan!). i'll meet them one day, i know. i may or may not like them and vice versa, but at least i get to actually put a real Pinoy face on these wonderful voices.

alrighty, then, i'm gonna stop here na, i have a paper to finish and i don't suppose i'll be in for my dr.j class if i don't actually work on it now. it's been very nice e-mailing you. want to hear from you soon.


ciao!
aaaaaaabbbbbbbiiiiiiiiiiggggggggaaaaaaaiiiiiilllllllll.

Untitled 1

death stares at me through the cold stoic pits of the idiot box
my mortality bites me incessantly

murder at daybreak:
i rise with the victim’s corpses
to watch the day’s bloody advent

casualties at noontide:
accidents piling
collecting
like dust
settling
on the murky surface of my coffee cup

blood spilled at sunset:
scrapesscratchesbrokenlimbsgapingwounds…
wailing mouths
a cry united
in pain
exploding from the lungs, diaphragms screeching

yet:
muted

god how i wish I could blink away the sight.-

Innocence: A Butterfly's Progress

(To Iris Mae and Jethro: cousins, and the two youngest sages in this world)


You were two and five months old
you were riding on my back.
It was the breezy month of May
and butterflies fluttered;
they were
autumn leaves with fairy wings all dandelion-yellow and powdery as
sweet-smelling talcum on your skin

I ran piggyback and you
giggled and laughed as you jiggled and wiggled atop my
wide mama’s back, your
small, chubby arms flapping in the air
you had
butterfly wings, Icarus wings, fearless, undaunted by
gravity’s pull and the torment of small rocks underneath my
feet’s thick soles.

We chased the butterflies, my bare feet thudding, trampling the
soft, soft grass when we disturbed the butterflies
and bugs
On their pre-storm hegira.

Your excited shrieks pierced the cloud-speckled stillness of
the sky
as we gained speed on a yellow one. You

extended your young hands to touch the flapping wings and your
small fingers closed around the feathery body.

you said, mama, look, I got one.
I kneeled in front of you. You
showed me your closed fist. You
opened your little fingers. You…

tried to set the butterfly free. It

fell on top of the soft, soft grass in million powdery feathery yellow pieces

while somewhere hidden in your two-and-five-months-old mind the
butterfly picks up its crushed self
and dandelion-wings carry it through
its pre-storm hegira.-

Ili

Nililikha ng tao ang sariling katatakutan:


Gabi.
Mga bintanang sarado, sinasalamin ang laman ng bahay.
Pagtalikod ko’y
May mga mukhang nakapagkit sa salamin
Mula sa labas.


Sa loob ng sasakyang
Bumabaybay sa malubak na daang
Humihiwa sa pisngi ng bundok ng aming ili
Maririnig. Ay sinu ka?
Mauulinig. I-adsina ka? Intu nan nagapwam?
Pumipintig. Adik getken sik-a.
Ang gabi…Adi daka mairupaan…
Ang gubat…Ay umegyat ka?
at napahalukipkip ako’t Kaeegyat-ak ngata wenno
di makadungaw sik-a nan umegyat
sa labas. isnan aliwen mu?

Bitbit sila ng hanging
Malamig at sabog sa dagta ng punong pino
Nasa paligid…

Habang nakaiwas ang paningin
Sa bintana ng sasakyan
May mga nananalaming
Nakatitig sa akin.

Ipininid mga talukap ng mata
Dahil ayaw kong bumulaga
Ang kababalaghang
Kumakatok sa bintana.
__________________________________

Pagsasalin: Sino ka? Taga-rito ka ba? Saan ka nagmula? Hindi kita kilala…hindi kita mamukhaan. Natatakot ka ba? Katakut-takot ba ako o ikaw lang ang tinatakot ng sarili mong anino?

the beginning

Everything has to begin somewhere.