Written last March 14, a few hours before the end.
The view at night
from a friend's car.
It is usallly like this
city lights flashing away.
I know--
we've seen this carnival
a thousand times.
Only now,
you are not with me,
not at my side,
and the view's different tonight.
19.3.08
15.3.08
The stylus lay in the mess that is my room, unbothered.
Last night was the end that I had refused to believe would come, despite seeing all the signs. Though the scenario played endlessly before, as a nightmare uninvited, I was still caught off-guard. Or rather, you can never be prepared, especially when you know you have to break your heart for the greater good.
And this morning, as I went around this city for my usual routine, it was only then that I realized how this city is stained by memories of you. Of us. How the pillars at the train station remembered how you embrace me, and how you walked with me when I had that sprain and everything. How I tried to look for those adhesive table linings that I had hidden once in between the styli at that store, only to find that both linings and styli are gone, replaced by quite overpriced pens.
How every step reminded me of you, the moments I spent with you; and how I held your hand when we walked together.
The stylus still lay among my stuff. I never got to give it to you.
Last night was the end that I had refused to believe would come, despite seeing all the signs. Though the scenario played endlessly before, as a nightmare uninvited, I was still caught off-guard. Or rather, you can never be prepared, especially when you know you have to break your heart for the greater good.
And this morning, as I went around this city for my usual routine, it was only then that I realized how this city is stained by memories of you. Of us. How the pillars at the train station remembered how you embrace me, and how you walked with me when I had that sprain and everything. How I tried to look for those adhesive table linings that I had hidden once in between the styli at that store, only to find that both linings and styli are gone, replaced by quite overpriced pens.
How every step reminded me of you, the moments I spent with you; and how I held your hand when we walked together.
The stylus still lay among my stuff. I never got to give it to you.
9.3.08
the professor's wife
Every day it went; a daily routine:
She would bring him coffee
While he was hunched over his papers
In his crowded study
Surrounded by his creations great and small.
She would watch him
And his coffee
Turn cold
While he rummaged through mazes
Of figures that she barely understood.
Sometimes she'd jokingly think
That he had slipped the ring
On the wrong woman's finger--
She felt a mistress, secondary
To Science and the Muses.
Not that she'd mind;
It was a burden
A path of servitude
That her love chose to take.
And so she set the cup on his desk
Still piping hot
With his quick thanks
She went back to the kitchen.
Tomorrow morning
She'll return
With another cup--
Just like today
Just like yesterday
She would bring him coffee
While he was hunched over his papers
In his crowded study
Surrounded by his creations great and small.
She would watch him
And his coffee
Turn cold
While he rummaged through mazes
Of figures that she barely understood.
Sometimes she'd jokingly think
That he had slipped the ring
On the wrong woman's finger--
She felt a mistress, secondary
To Science and the Muses.
Not that she'd mind;
It was a burden
A path of servitude
That her love chose to take.
And so she set the cup on his desk
Still piping hot
With his quick thanks
She went back to the kitchen.
Tomorrow morning
She'll return
With another cup--
Just like today
Just like yesterday
3.3.08
harsh realities
Her name, I think, was Diana, something I just found out earlier.
She was the little kid that sells scrunchies at CASAA, an idea romanticized by . I always buy scrunchies from her, even if I don't necessarily use them; that progressed into giving her part of my allowance since she didn't have any. Just a couple of hundred bucks, nothing really big, just a little something to help her survive until the end of the school week. Heck had I have a real job, I'd give more. Just to help, after all, how much would she able to make in a day? Good thing the concessionaires at CASAA are helpful, too--she sometimes gets free meals or something. And you know she's sincere--she'd listen to my worries, I listen to hers; and she would persuade me to buy her scrunchies and not just give her money, back when my hair was longer.
I saw her earlier, while I was on the way to AS101 to submit the request slip for my TCG. She had chased after me, and strangely enough, she was quite desperate. Apparently her grandmother got sick, and needs 40 grand for an operation. I could only offer her the two hundred bucks, and a promise to ask for help. I had nothing more to offer, with the week still ahead of me.
And I hated that feeling--the feeling that I couldn't do anything. If only I had contacts to some charity or whatnot. And I felt the pain, the fear of trying to fill her tiny shoes.
That is her harsh reality, a world apart from mine; yet like all realites the boundaries do blur.
------------->
The World Chat blares, in screaming yellow font: S>Lv80 WX GOOD EQUIPS CEBU AREA.
These accounts, with prices ranging in the thousands, offer a way for rich newbies to play high-levelled characters. It's a trade almost underground, and a trade that cannot be killed off by any gaming company simply by banning accounts.
After all, when you've grown weary of the game, it'd be such a waste to let your account lay dormant. Money does talk, and yes, people are willing to spend that cash on a collection of pixels. Mind you, I do play and spend considerable time playing, but I never went as far to blow off thousands in one go just to get a highbie character.
Then again, it is their reality, and I have no right to speak against what they believe is right.
She was the little kid that sells scrunchies at CASAA, an idea romanticized by . I always buy scrunchies from her, even if I don't necessarily use them; that progressed into giving her part of my allowance since she didn't have any. Just a couple of hundred bucks, nothing really big, just a little something to help her survive until the end of the school week. Heck had I have a real job, I'd give more. Just to help, after all, how much would she able to make in a day? Good thing the concessionaires at CASAA are helpful, too--she sometimes gets free meals or something. And you know she's sincere--she'd listen to my worries, I listen to hers; and she would persuade me to buy her scrunchies and not just give her money, back when my hair was longer.
I saw her earlier, while I was on the way to AS101 to submit the request slip for my TCG. She had chased after me, and strangely enough, she was quite desperate. Apparently her grandmother got sick, and needs 40 grand for an operation. I could only offer her the two hundred bucks, and a promise to ask for help. I had nothing more to offer, with the week still ahead of me.
And I hated that feeling--the feeling that I couldn't do anything. If only I had contacts to some charity or whatnot. And I felt the pain, the fear of trying to fill her tiny shoes.
That is her harsh reality, a world apart from mine; yet like all realites the boundaries do blur.
------------->
The World Chat blares, in screaming yellow font: S>Lv80 WX GOOD EQUIPS CEBU AREA.
These accounts, with prices ranging in the thousands, offer a way for rich newbies to play high-levelled characters. It's a trade almost underground, and a trade that cannot be killed off by any gaming company simply by banning accounts.
After all, when you've grown weary of the game, it'd be such a waste to let your account lay dormant. Money does talk, and yes, people are willing to spend that cash on a collection of pixels. Mind you, I do play and spend considerable time playing, but I never went as far to blow off thousands in one go just to get a highbie character.
Then again, it is their reality, and I have no right to speak against what they believe is right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)