June Musings

That I have no one else to really talk to in my physical realm is true. Stepping into this virtual world has always felt like a holiday – a respite from the grating realities of my earthly existence.

Here in my country, I’ve had difficulty finding people who are like me: highly enthusiastic about English and writing, deeply introspective, more of an iconoclast, and free from religious shackles. None of my family members or relatives share my pursuits. To boot, acquaintances and personal connections at work I have very little in common with – as my means of livelihood is totally unrelated to my passions in life. It’s on the internet, specifically the blogsphere, that I met people who were interesting to me.

In here, I occasionally seek refuge and a little warmth and the feeling of home. I don’t have the standard life of having a family around. I’m at this stage where I simply focus on the things that still sustain me and elevate my well-being.
The blogland is where I truly enjoy the privilege of running with stanzas and verses of my own whenever I want to– in spite of the fact coming up with the proper metaphor is an arduous undertaking. No doubt my strength is more on prose. Still, my poetic endeavours have been gratifying – because it’s somewhat new, something I haven’t given real attention to in the past. My pitiful lyrical attempts could also be traced back to my half a dozen skimpy silly lines several years back, as romantic verses have always been my preference when penning poetry. Besides, I’m a proponent of the writing tip that one should accord more precedence to feelings than words.
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People around me, including my own sister, have been puzzled as to how I could go on after my son left. In my mind, I am profoundly convinced I am my father’s daughter. In the sense he and I were constructed of sturdier stuff compared to most average beings. No, I take that back. My father had been the real McCoy. There were days I wouldn’t want to rise up from bed and I don’t believe I’m as industrious as he was. Even so, my vow is to keep putting my one foot in front of the other. Because I am still bent on finding out how far my trudging steps will take me – while appreciating everything good that’s been left.

Loneliness is something I don’t want to process much in my mundane condition anymore. I guess it has since become deep-rooted I can no longer tell whether I’m sad or not. Too many losses, griefs, and afflictions I’ve had to set aside to be able to go on living. I’m simply determined to make use of whatever’s left until everything ultimately slips away.

In the event I’d get hit by a bus while carrying on with my daily humdrum tasks, I’d be at peace knowing my words, no matter how struggling and unskillful they are, would have their resting place here.

luthienne, Tumbler, Noirefontaine, Belgium (2018)

Needn’t Explain Myself Really

A long time ago, a bestfriend hinted that maybe I don’t know how to love. I was a bit hurt by that. But I made it my business neither to verify nor dwell on that notion about myself. There were more important things to do. Her remark has lingered to this day.

No wonder it would take another dimension for me to find a certain happiness I can’t fully explain. Where there’s love, care, and specific matters of the heart. Does it matter if it’s real or not? I’m here anyway and I’m being sustained by it all for a while.

Anything, anything that would spur me to fill up a few blank pages. No, not just anything or anyone. Something, somebody with some substance and merit — regardless that he’s a third-rate version of you talent-wise. And I can’t believe I said that. But I tell it like it is.

Explanation not necessary, I know. Something in me still feels like saying “sorry.” We’re not in the real world anyhow. I’ve learned to be convinced by that.

source image: patreon | print

…My one true love remains myself.—

Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

I’m not complaining, am I?

Every day of my life, I attend to a job I don’t care much about. I deal with people I don’t have much in common with. For two months straight now.

Oh I’m doing fine. Sometimes I sleep six hours straight because I was dead tired after working the whole day. That’s good, getting enough sleep… Also, I can pay my bills with a little more ease these days.

I am emotionally dead, though. That’s how I feel. And I miss my secret online literary life here. My few favorite sites/bloggers on FB, WordPress, Fox News, and many others. I have no time to read anymore.

I just have to write something tonight. And I should remind myself over and over to rely on music to feed my soul (I tend to forget when I’m too busy). My favorite songs never fail to resurrect the girl in me from a long time ago. That makes me…happy.

Yet I’m feeling sleepy…. so goodnight for now.

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I was barely eleven when I fell in love with Paul Davis’ original masterpiece (this is live version).

My all-time favorite song to this day.

I hadn’t sent him the last ones

He embodies genuine kindness. He also encouraged me to write and for that I am grateful and will always remember him with fondness. I wish I had sent him the last of the poems I wrote for him in the past few weeks.

image: sweet-thoughtt, Tumbler

I know whereof I speak 
in harness to all that I seek
his scent, his touch, his sigh
one light, my heart, one love

image: zalam

What do you remember on that day?
“His blue eyes that speak of a good life and his few regrets.”
What was he like?
“Cool and gentle as rain. Dawn and dusk in one.”
And if you came face to face with him again?
“I’d thank him for the grace that I’d given him my all.”

wilderswil, zwitserland, dec2017

What bone in my body has forgotten you?
Locked in your essence I’d spurn any rescue
from a dream that once I had called you mine
What bone in my body has forgotten you?
When I carry this tattoo – etch of your smile
between fragile and strength, timid and wild 
What bone in my body has forgotten you? 

apoetreflects: “ “There is some realm where feelings become birds and dark sky, and spirit is more solid than stone.” —John Gardner ”

My train of words will carry all the tender
and supreme ways I wish to love you,
without any permission nor discourse
as to reasons I can’t renounce you. 

Image may contain: flower and text

Mortal as his servant, angel from beyond
I ask myself: “Has he ever been mine?” 
It’s a quarrel from afar that tore us apart 
when all I’d ever wanted was his heart. 

Image may contain: ocean, sky, cloud, outdoor, nature and water

There’s a dream that smiles when the sky sparks over the coasts
when i’m lost in wonder why his deep blue eyes are central to my pulse
So the evening has turned cold, the night rain starts to pour
the dialogues within my heart begin to soar. 

oh my heart

I don’t want to write him back. I can’t be another one on a long string of pearls. But I miss him. I hate love…

You’re still in it. You’ll always be in it. No, not literally. But in your heart. Nothing ever ends, not if it’s gone that deep. You’ll always be walking wounded. That’s the only choice, after a while. Walking wounded, or dead.

Julian Barnes, from The Only Story

Yes yes, Mr. Barnes couldn’t have said it better.

I should just look forward to go traveling again. Even though I have no more money. 😀

musings on a very hot busy summer day

Beware: Stark honesty ahead.

I keep on saying I like men in general. I admit though the self-centeredness could get so appalling at times. All the males here basically wanted their egos to be constantly stroked. It’s tiring sometimes but I enjoy the patting most of the time. It’s what we women are good at.

My current apple of the eye, although generally a good man, is someone who seems to be basking in his social media fame over the attention he gets from very young ladies and, uh, girls. Imagining about it, considering his age, makes me go “Eew” but, you know, I need the inspiration and I won’t be able to write anything nor be productive if I dwell on such an unpleasant reality. (Of course my insecurity is apparent right this moment — what middle-aged woman doesn’t feel this way?) We are all flawed. And I am being judged no doubt too by the people I’ve interacted with here who’ve been surely disappointed by my foibles and mediocrity.

I’ll be totally honest in saying I’m glad to have found him and I like “loving” this poet cum librarian because he’s not really a mean person. His FB friends (duh, I looked at his profile) had expressed the man has got a golden heart — how refreshing, for a change. Because I’d had it with intellectuals who were frighteningly insulting and verbally abusive.

I also need this kind of distraction…badly. When I lie down to sleep at night, I remember the ones I’ve lost — especially the most recent one. I miss her despite the fact she didn’t love me. And I’m reminded of how I could have been a better daughter to her — which I chose not to be, because she had hurt me so much. I don’t have a golden heart, yeah…

I’m enjoying both the poetry readings and my piteous poetic attempts, to boot. I guess I’ll be staying in this realm for good. Reading and writing. With or without the men. Brokenhearted or not, I’ll find a way when the time comes my present “love” is not worth being my Muse anymore.

Anyway, these have been my sentiments and ponderings as of late.

in Wilderswil Switzerland last December. Up close, I don’t look that young: Of course I use an app to erase a few lines; I’m now in my 50’s, fyi. But people say I’m still beautiful –face to face–in person, and I fucking believe it. Hah! 🙂

my response on post about struggle

It’s always pleasing to hear of your solitary walks bcz the activity is gratifying for me too. My delayed comment was intentional as others may find it tragic — nothing inspiring. My struggle stems from another sudden devastating loss two months ago whereupon acceptance of the inevitable is the only way to be able to go on. Although I have this need to be spiritual, you might know what it feels like for people who don’t believe in life after death. My whole existence has personally taught me there’s no pain equal to the ultimate separation from those who raised you or you grew up with. I went ahead with my pre-planned trip one month after and surely received flak from kinsfolk behind my back — but they are completely clueless as to the amount of sorrow I’ve been carrying all along. Grief sometimes gets set aside for one’s own survival; the heartache, however, lingers on.
I posted this comment in response to an FB pal’s post who happens to be a Mormon devotee. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so honest this time but I made the mistake of assuming he’ll be okay with the beliefs I hold and my non-religious views in the same vein I don’t judge him in spite of his unpleasant revelations and the unpalatable details reflected by his entries.
It’s not the first time I got discriminated for my views and I am not apologetic about being opinionated. If someone would expect me to be accepting of their flaws and blunders yet have trouble being tolerant themselves, I wouldn’t mind losing their friendship. Good riddance, Mr. Cootey.