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. 

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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. 

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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.

I’m Going To Europe For The 3rd Time

My favorite destination: Europe. My flight is tonight. I’ll be staying within that continent for two weeks. I’m spending Christmas and New Year there, too.

It’s my very first solo journey. Completely on my own. Prepared for several months for this. Am I petrified? You bet I am. They keep on saying it’s the dead of winter now in that part of the globe. and I easily feel cold. So again, am I petrified? The correct answer should be: will it help if I am?

I hope to see falling snow. It’s my dream. I’m not sure I’ll get the chance to witness such a spectacular view. I hope I will.

Whenever  I travel abroad I make this tiny assumption I may not be able to come back. One thing I learned about life: You never know what’s gonna happen next. Anyway, I wrote this post a testament as well to the love of my life, my father and all the pets I’ve had. I’m gonna miss my cat, Snowy, who I have to leave behind for a while until I come back. My brother and his partner will look after him.

I’ll be posting photos as soon as I can. and I will add more to this post later as I am in a hurry; I’m on my way to the airport. Wish me a very happy and safe trip.

most beautiful people on the planet

The norwegians. I’ve seen other citizens from half a dozen places on this earth yet the unadorned physical good looks of the Norway inhabitants I consider exceptional. It amazed me to see young women working as security guards and waitresses who looked like movie stars. Mere clerks at airport booths are hunks with flawless, a bit reddish complexion and perfect facial features that literally took my breath away.

The thing is, they aren’t polite or kind. Most of them are rude. I guess their looks and the affluence of their nation made them that way.

Still, if I have to choose which country I would like to live in forever, Norway it is — if only for the best-looking natives in that magnificent land.

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I took this cute image somewhere in a beautiful place in Norway last year. 

I Wonder Who

My stats show somebody from the Philippines keeps on dropping by my blog regularly. I hope it isn’t any of my former colleagues at my last job because it’s not fair that they continue to be engrossed as to what’s going on in my daily existence while I don’t give an ounce of attention over any of them. Sure a few are still somewhat connected to me on FB although I’d unfollowed them all because their affairs just don’t interest me.

I don’t mind if I have a follower who’s a complete stranger. Whatever I write here won’t be much of an issue to him or her.

What if that consistent visitor happens to be my son? Oh well…. He ‘kinda told me off in one of his recent text messages about my hidden resentment towards him. When I read his note, my mind was like “wtf, you expect me to be happy and proud of your unconscionable demeanor towards your mother for the past three years?” Of course I know he’s been reading my blog — he was the one who set it up in the first place. He’s probably checking periodically if I’m still alive. He still has a hard time believing I’ve lasted this long on my own.

I visited and talked to him during the height of the dreadful crisis last month. Because I wanted him to at least do the right thing and pay his last respects to someone who had loved him dearly. Mind you, the brat was once more so full of himself to think about other people other than his ego and imagined hurt pride. I can’t believe I raised that huge of a monster.

During our text messaging and especially in our last conversation face to face I kept telling him I love him. It’s true — he’s my child. The 22 years we’d been together 24/7 cannot be erased; even though it’s become clear he doesn’t love me. The boy who grew up with me — despite losing him eventually — still remains in my heart.

He’d definitely condemn me again if he reads this post. I say, “Dear child, it only proves you are not a De Leon — which I am and truly proud of. You are a Mamaradlo; only your father’s blood runs deep and pure in you.”

I gave him instructions (what to do) when it’s my time to pass away. Cremation and no funeral for me. Not surprising if he ends up tossing out my ashes wherever (although I hope it’d be in some beautiful sea 🙂 ). His inexplicable indignation no doubt he will hold on to.

I’d been a good and responsible mother; that I can uphold until the end of my days. May I be able to live many many more years to rejoice on that fact and take delight with what’s left in my life.

 

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-dinner after hearing mass on the 9th day. Feeling terrible; not motivated to make myself pretty.