Paint me a portrait
Of your quiet smile,
Your gentle eyes,
Your subtle mystery
My sighs cannot paint me that
Nor my thoughts of you
Nor my tossing and turning
Nor the whispers of my heart
Capture for me
The silent words
The fleeting affection
The kindness
You are glorious
A memoir to reminisce
A passing portent
A timeless portrait
6/4/07 Li
I long to be a child
Oblivious to the pain
Always open and trusting
Enjoying life’s simple games.
I long to be a poet
And design my fate with words.
Or maybe a musician
And enchant all with my chords.
I even long to be an illusionist
And conjure all the wonderful things
But I’m good as lost in this cycle
Meaningless then my deeds would be deemed
Sometimes I long to be a pretender
And dwell in my clandestine world
With all my masks and facades
My cries then won’t ever be heard.
But I am simply a person
Whose soul wanders aimlessly;
I long to make the difference
In this world stained with misery.
I am me.
I don’t long to be
(someone else anymore)
I long to live.
2004
Driving.. crying.. raining..
Those aren’t what I remember anymore as I slowly open my eyes and become aware of the soft whisper of raindrops and graying skies right outside my windows … It IS the first rainy Tuesday morning.. Lovely.
SUmmer’s almost over, huh?
My wild sunflowers that line the University avenue, that looked up and waited for the sun’s kisses, are replaced by my fiery orange fire trees..
My beautiful portraits put me back almost to a blissful stupor..
I thank God for my renewed strength; the beautiful, orange flames that my fire trees shed remind me of every reason in the world to keep looking at things with the same glowing passion..
Sigh..
“The Lord is near…”, she, saying them with closed eyes, and a contented smile, assured me. We were just finishing a hearty dinner of greens and fish, and she, being old, felt sleepy right then and there. I looked at her and smiled a quiet smile, and simply nodded. Lola slowly opened her eyes and returned the smile- the kind one that is full of wisdom and warmth. Her wrinkles seemed beaming, too. How I loved the way she looked.
Old people always fascinate me- when they smile for any reason, when they laugh warmly, or even when they get irritated.
Appeasing a cranky one is an art. You’d have to offer the right words, almost like how it is with children- just a wave of the magic wand, and all’s back to peaceful normal. Plus, you’d have to have patience potion right inside your pocket.
Lola was just telling me to whisper to Him whatever it is in my heart. I wonder what is in hers.
I walked her to my room. It was lovely having her for the rest of the Holy Week. I saw to her getting ready to sleep on my bed. I remembered her telling me how her helper wouldn’t cook monggo with chicaron since bawal. It was her favorite, though she accepted with a resigned frown. Cute.
I finally bid her goodnight, as she said she’d pray for my wish also.
I squeezed her hand and said quiet thanks.
I wish to have her forever.
And tonight, that’s what I’d pray for.
Yesterday was superb. Met with L and J, all dressed up and ready!
Our objective: To celebrate our long-awaited freedom. (from oppression? You could call it that. Hehe.)
We had a grand ball at the water spa, relaxing and easing our nerves. On the walls posted is the list of health benefits. Dwelling on the last line in the list, we happily affirm ourselves that we were “relieved of physical and emotional distress”.
We dipped in the boiling pools of mint, jasmine, and lavender. Eyes closed. Souls healed.
No more of the matters of deceit, contempt. Goodbye to hearing preaches about being fair in life when what we witnessed were cheats; to puzzling oxymoron of serving one who doesn’t tolerate lies but does not appreciate honesty either; to one who deems herself “fairest (in all sense of the world) of them all” and is supposedly a role-model of professionalism.
May God forgive us.
We sing in our mind, “Karma”, and “Better Days”.
Sigh.. Toasts to her, and to Him! Life’s been fruitful!
In a hundred twists and turns you find yourself overturned.
Suddenly you see watermelons turn yellow instead of the familiar crimson red most used to be.
Suddenly a new light had tainted professions, particularly teachers, eventually losing their essence, and worse, themselves- if left not contended with- in the process.
Suddenly personal and petty matters are part of the discussion instead of the usual lesson- planning, and implementing.
Suddenly family values are being misconstrued and entwined into professionalism, so that a new person entering the work jungle gets confused and confounded.
And often get torn eventually.
As what I could closely relate myself with. Almost.
While things continue to flow into the river of change, there still are things that stay behind the dam- blended continuously by time with new residues.
For instance, youth is still equated to being immature, not credible… (and what would be the appropriate preffix to attach to it to mean the opposite of credible; in- , I hope. It would be incredible, wouldn’t it? Exactly. INcredible youth).
As one says, if you can’t do anything, leave.
Precisely what I did.
And for the right reasons.
Primarily it was to turn my world right side up again.
Yup. Choose your battles. This time, I opt to not choose this.
Why is it that some people are never happy without something to complain about?
I sit here- at quarter past eight in the morning of rainy Tuesday- silent, anxious. I wonder if getting in trouble for telling the truth is better than walking blindly- and in bliss- in ignorance. Wish the rains could wash away my anxiety.
Yes, I’m torn. More than ever. I would have stabbed myself sooner for being this idealistic. I am, as Ji Li Jiang perfectly pictured, like an animal trapped, scared, and sure that the hunter will come soon.
It was Friday evening when I wrote the comments asked of me as part of bureaucracy (such a weighty word that actually is political in itself- all for the services of the one, top person). So I reflected, wrote, and sealed it with my signature (more like signed a death paper).
As my mentor said, “Choose your battle”. How I wish the raindrops are hard, pounding determination instead; my courage still wavers. She is a fraction of the world’s cheats, yet the effect tears me. For what I believe, and for the principles I hold, I will try all I can to walk away, with knowing eyes that could look straight at hers, and with conviction and faith in front.
But for now, I will let the pain consume me, for as long as I can endure these frustrations. I will choose my battle as she is not worth it.
And tonight, I shall sleep in peace. Tomorrow when I wake up, I hope I will not have to strip off cobwebs of apprehensions…
Orange spice.
How a cup of tea- with that particular flavour- can haunt is startling. Or the very thought of it, rather. It makes me miss her. Funny how even the sound of the kettle whistling, or the sight of the stomach-churning, fizzing thing (that you’re supposed to take as supplements) makes you remember things. It’s almost overwhelming.
The world had chosen that one night, by the cosy dinner table, to embrace me with love, security. I fell back into having an older sister again- as easily as you fall into your bed at night- safe and sound. That night blew kisses of affection, as the scent of orange spice and burnt cookie crumbs wafted around the room; lullabies, and gentle whispers of promises healed my soul.
What I would not give…
For one more cup of tea- with her across me.
I am left with glimpses of our acquaintance- missing her more than ever…
- just as the bitter, burnt crumbs of cookie reminded me how it momentarily satisfied my craving, only to find myself wanting more of it.
I wish to see her, be with her, talk with her…
The constant, sweet Teacher/ Chichur Liii/ Pichur Wee continually shun and shrug off everyday stress. I am happily blessed with the wonderful and mellow lives who look at me with quiet smiles, who’d share with me stories, lessons, thoughts. Or the angels’ cute, candid words, and their constant prattle with their eager and trusting looks.
How I wish for Life to stay this way- simple, interesting. I could never be much happier, and it could never get any better than this…
Or depressing.
How many more months? Weeks, is it, before I’m left with memories and love notes and still portraits of what had been?
I will miss you all.
….Sigh..
Her voice fills the silent room… All eyes are on her- including mine.
She stands up. I long for her to approach me as I am seated in the corner of the room- only to realize she is to turn the lights back on.
And the room comes to life with just one click..
I reminisce how she illuminated my world- first dominating, then encouraging.. from learning WHAt to think, to HOW to think.. from long lectures on life, to whispers of love and promises that she’d always be there, and finally to silent, knowing smiles, and understanding nods, and unspoken assurance..
With just one click, light came in blinding, burning rays, shifting to dimness, then with gradual changes, to a clear, comforting brightness.
I continue to look at her. I smile.. i was glowing inside.
How i love her so.
I see her glance at me. I see only the purest love there ever is, behind her wrinkled face and tired eyes.
All my life I’ve known her in the only three letters i hold dear to me-
Mom.
