Happiness is not something we choose without consequences. We will always face consequences. Happiness is a feeling, not a state of mind. There are steps to achieve that gratifying smile that can be felt all over your body. There are certain requirements. You do not tell someone “BE HAPPY” and enchant them. You push slowly like the calm ocean, gingerly scratching the shore and dragging it in your clutches until the shore has become the ocean floor and the ocean floor, in its entirety, has become your norm.
But I am not the sand, not the shore that can adapt to any environment, I cannot breathe underwater — I can only drown.
I have this odd fixation with the word HAPPINESS. There are a billion words in the world and why have I always chosen to define happiness in my poems?
And since the first breaking of my heart, I discovered that I grew another one for the broken as I often find myself wishing that their pain would end, that my words would do more than console but actually glue the pieces together. How convenient that would be to everyone, if there was somehow a fairy with a magic wand whose only purpose is stitch the debris of an ended relationship, or might be a magician who’ll conduct a disappearing act on the memories that cause the shards to ache. But, just as I, and all those who have caught this flu and conquered it; you must walk alone, into the road of thorns, and never look back.
I hope you have shed your last tear on yesterday’s year-end. The last drop that you’ll keep for a while; made sure it’s stored in a glass bottle that you can wear around your neck –
a lucky charm for the year ahead – a bit of grief: the proof that you can ferry yourself through trying times
as sadness isn’t meant to be forgotten, it isn’t meant to be harbored either
it’s just good to keep it as a keepsake, a reminder – so that when happiness does come to visit
you’ll have a reference to appreciate each day in a kaleidoscope
We each put a foot inside the circle, steadying our breaths as we wait for it to flinch, the pronouncement of an event that would force us to withdraw our lower extremities so that we may be safe from the swinging blade that might cut us in half. Admit it. This is fun. Gambling the attachment of an extremely useful body part all in the name of love. This bet that we roll dies with, drawing every ounce of energy and splurging it on this one chance. This one thing that we know will make or break us… or at least until we get over it. If there will be anything to get over. If this actually works out.
Those were my exact sentiments when we were starting our withdrawing relationship. Now we’re inside the circle and the swinging blade has been replaced. Two now exist, swooshing alternately behind the both of us. We are smushed together within this circle, our haven, our home. Both of us though, has a toe out of line. For the moment the clock dings, the blades will cease and we will – reluctantly – part to partake in responsibilities. In separate worlds revolving around the same orbit, we venture with another withdrawal hanging over our heads. And as our fingers break away, we both smile – after the pouting and promises – thankful for even the smallest bit of sand that we’ve had. We know this isn’t the end. This is also not the beginning. But it is the wistful middle. Where our hearts are in the right place but our corporeal essences are someplace else. Where we have no idea of what the Fates have in store for us. And maybe that is enough for now… to be love-struck wanderers of this universe that will always stray too far away but come home to each others arms, in this smidge of a circle where the blades will always exist; awaiting for the blow to end it all or the one that will finally snip the implacable withdrawals into oblivion.
Two second-hands living in the same Big Ben
counter and clockwise beat together in a similar rhythm on opposing schedules of the day
she breaks her fast at around 8am, syncing with his injestion of supper and she collapses at midnight just as he reboots for the night shift
though they spend most of the ticks and tocks in varying angles
It was agreed upon that they meet on the sixth –
Definitely on the sixth of the week
to reconcile and kindle… caressing those can’t-be-helped blank spaces where fragments should have been
Kailangan ko ng oras –
Hindi para isipin kung ayaw ko na,
Hindi para isipin kung papaano ko sila matatakasan
Kung hindi para maghanap
ng damdamin mula sa mundo,
ng damdamin na iuukit ko sa’king papel,
ng aking sarili na hanggang ngayo’y nawawala pa rin sa aklat na hindi ko pa naisusulat
Soft – are the curves of your smile,
my stomach on the inside
your lips against mine
Warmth – is the sun in your eyes
my hands under your skin
your arms, a blanket I sink in
Bliss – each second that ticks
my heart ensnared
your love is –