A Woman’s Lament

What if the only reason you’re staying is because he needs you too much? Love is as minimal as certainty and time and patience survives mutually along with the heavy burdens anchoring the relationship. Space, on the other hand, is only for comfort, a void feeding the soul, wide enough for it to breath. Intimacy is a dull assurance that this is not charity work. The other keeps on faking pleasure while the duration of communion shortens as the excitement fades its colors, as heat rests on a pathetic Celsius at room temperature. The future is a remote place where it withholds your ability to vow and to hold it long enough, like the kid’s contests–the longer who held his breath, wins. It later becomes a competition of the most faithful soul, the winner gets to blame the other for being a heartless liar. The past was where love resides and decided not to come along, it was where the movement of water was more understandable, fluid like the days passing and feelings tilting back and forth, but never spilling off the swaying bowl on the balancing scale. The present is where everything crumbles like over-cooked croutons, too dry to even chew, what more to swallow? Love is now reinvented as a lesser choice to make for yourself and your happiness. It happened that today as present not anymore becomes as past tomorrow, rather a cold cycle, a cursed routine that kills the other inside, everyday. While tomorrow, as the future can never be really sure. She keeps on smiling to be strong. She forgot her hand was on his back, rubbing it as he sobs like a helpless little boy got bullied in school or fell of the bike the first time. Sometimes, it just passes, numb and unfeeling like how the next day is going to be.

The Size of Your Head

A black hole roughly made with guilty pleasures and blood sucking desires fed the lazy fat mass that was hardly called human.
With a thin membrane juxtaposed with it, organic unity decays to an understanding.
What was weight and what was mass didn’t really matter because there was no gravity first to consider.
All that was familiar was size and the absence of its sense, their wrinkled sensibilities as texture.
You’re a post-modern Venus you claimed. Because laziness was far more obnoxious to ignore than sweat and work.
The elephants will remember what you said. Their ears flap but fly with thoughts and dust particles. Too old an excuse.
An orbit is too rude, but the moon is too beautiful.
Maybe you’re a gaseous planet that needs to loose some gas to shrink or work out with your gravity.
I’m certain you’re no planet of liquid, that’s lipids and low Celsius work, you’re too intact. Movement is only the twitching on a hot summer day.
You’re made of earth but not dirt. Remember your mold.
The continents await your feet lost in wandering.

A December Memory (written August 27, 2012)

“Stars grant wishes”

 

so I kept wishing

the stars

held wishes

like cold brittle fingers

metamorphose

as the secrets

of the night

plunge

down

from behind the clouds

in between

the skyline of the metro

and the street lights

trampled over by speeding cars

nothing disturbs

the sleeping city

serenity–or muted sounds

deaf ears

until the fogged dawn

i seek the truth—

found it

tangled

with my white sheets.

Divinity

She had already laid
The frameworks of her body,
Her thoughts, and the fragments
Left she once called soul.
Gravity was never her enemy
But her weight misplaced.
It was nowhere her belly,
No it was a crescent moon
Mocking the night.
But it was somewhere above
Her head even higher than
The heavens she sought.
It was the heaviest shadow
Lurking, no, it is a cloud
Of memory or a thought.
She never knew. But
She wanted to know.
If there are mysteries beyond
The circumference of the rosary
Or relevance of the covenant
Of circumcision, why not,
Menstruation? For all we did
Was bleed because of natural
Causes. More than the role
Of women tiptoeing down
The altars only to be offered
To be tied by the finger that
pulsates, like the snapping of
Life just a tick toc away
Somewhere the area of her belly.
Yes, like the crescent moon
But the shaded shadows.
It was the mystery of her own
Like every man has. But not
This divinity of women they don’t.
As divine as an immaculate conception
As self-defining as a virgin-birth.

Sphygmomanometer

A year has passed and I still wish I’ve become a widow. A year is long enough for a reason to celebrate love and its (still) presence. But with grievance and lost, a year is not too long ago.

A lot has been taken, many have been lost.

I’m still coping with the changes in my system. The walls are still white, the syringes are still as sharp, but the waiting time is not so long anymore. I thought a year ago I was to adjust by now, already with a stable set of friends, a permanent seat at the canteen, a reserved parking spot. The good thing though is the guard knows my name, “Good morning Nurse Nadia!”, he would smile ironically at the hospital entrance. He was a little young man that reminds me of my teenage son. I would gladly smile back at him. Then it’s the official start of my night shift.

“Nurse Nadia, how are you? I heard you were sick these past few days?”, Janice, the clingy intern greeted me. She’s got a hot cup of coffee halfway empty on her left hand with the right on my shoulders. I know she’s having a hard time adjusting too with our head nurse Silvia who is always breathing at our necks. Silvia never liked me; she thinks I’m a no good to her and the hospital. It adds to her enraged ego that I was the head nurse of the small clinic in our subdivision before I transferred. I heard her murmur once to the other effeminate nurse of her same age, “She’s too young to be head nurse! Even of a clinic!”, she grumbled and flashed her sharp eyes at me. That was my second day I recalled.

“Nadia, thank God you’re fine now! How are you, do you feel dizzy? Is it too soon for you to work? I think it’s too soon! Have you regained your strength?”, Tina, the only genuine friend I have gained in my year here, excitedly welcomed me. She’s always that giddy, sometimes I ask myself how I became friends with her in the first place, were too different. Tina is the only exception to the rule but she doesn’t disprove my belief that two different people could never work. Even with the strenuous efforts.

“It’s been a drag the three days you were away, I wanted to come by and check on you but since I’m covering for your shift and”, she lowered her voice and made that face that were about to bitch out, “let’s not forget THE psycho-nurse disapproves my request for early end of shift.”

I chuckled a little and replied with a dry voice, “It’s fine Tina, I understand and thank you by the way. I’ll treat you coffee later don’t worry!”

“I think the intern needs it more than I do.”, Tina chinned. “She needs some more energy boost to kiss up to Silvia.” We both laughed like embarrassed teenagers.

“Well’, I cleared my throat, “Jacob and Hannah came visit. I don’t know who told them I was sick. They brought oranges and apples. Last night they slept at my apartment since it was a Saturday. It felt different when they took care of me. Different, but in a good way. I don’t know, when I closed my eyes, it felt like I was home.”

Tina puts her serious face on. When she becomes serious, she’s extremely serious especially with our conversations about our motherhood. “It’s a good thing Harold allowed them.” She focused on me and placed her hand on mine. We both smiled. Tina understood perfectly how I missed being a mother.

“Excuse me, Nurse Nadia, Nurse Tina, head nurse calls you on the ER.”, Janice awkwardly interrupted.

“It’s about time, some action on this idle wing!”, Tina shifted sarcastically. “I told you Nadia, it’s been a drag without you here.”

The only thing I have adjusted to was the busier halls, the more demanding need for assistance, the more serious cases of patients, the bigger white rooms, and a better salary. But my mind has not become clearer knowing I’m two hospitals farther away from my kids. What if they needed my aid? What if they called for me if they, God forbid, have an accident, be burning with fever, or whatever emergency? I choked every time I realize this. There was not a time I did not think about them.

I walked bigger steps down the hall. The fluorescent lights reflect on the gray-white marble floor. I was reminded why I transferred. I needed to save up so that the day would come I would be as or more financially able than my wretched husband. I despise his name or even to call him my husband. On my transfer in this hospital, I denounce his surname and used my maiden name instead. That helped me through, a little.

I entered the emergency room and the guard who greets me every beginning of my night shift, pointed me to the room on my left. I attended to the patient enthusiastically; it feels my first day again. It flashes back how Hannah who was only 12, patiently and carefully wiped a towel soaked on lukewarm water on my forehead as she smiles and softly assures me, “Mommy you’ll feel better soon I know, I’m your nurse now and Kuya too.”, she warmly smiled at me. “Mommy,”, her face turned tear-jerking, “when will you come home? Daddy sometimes talks about you. We miss you a lot.” Hannah’s voice still rings. Oh how pure and innocent my daughter is.

I asked the standard questions to the patient without looking at his face. I was checking for wounds, fractures, or any visible causes of pain. “Hypertension.”, the patient softly replied. A chill ran down my spine and spread to my extremities as the familiar voice engulfed me. I was numb, I’m aware the second I saw Tina rushing to the corridor. I couldn’t move and call her for a trade. I just stared at the clock that says 2:34. Mother of Sorrow, right below the clock looks at me with compassion. The windows were tight sealed but I felt the chilled air of dawn outside. I knew who the patient was.

“You should have just gone to St. Joseph hospital, or Our Lady of Fatima 5 streets away from here, closer to your house. Or the clinic in the subdivision. It’s just hypertension.”, I wanted my voice to sound colder than how I feel but it sounded lukewarm, not even.

“I told Jacob to drive here instead. I was avoiding conflicts with you. You didn’t tell us you where you transferred so,”

“So you made Jacob drove farther assuming I transferred to a hospital still near the kids! What do you think I’ll let you die if ever I’ll be your attending nurse?!”, I heard myself almost screaming at him. Harold was just silent. I attended to him.

“I didn’t see Jacob, where is he? Is Hannah with you too?”, I hated myself I sound so calm. What are the chances I would be the one healing him? I’m the first person in this planet who wanted him dead! I cuffed him and grasped the bulb.

He looked weak, pale, and as if a year made him aged that much. I felt somewhere beneath me a grumble of pity. Here I am curing a man who stole my youth, my dreams of becoming a doctor, my plans of living the bachelorette life. He took everything too soon. I kept pumping the bulb.

“Jacob is waiting in the car. Mama looks after Hannah who’s sleeping when we left.”, he answered weakly and tilted his head back with dizziness.

All the unpleasant things I plan to do to him, all the things I wish he could have just done. But he was too much of a coward to admit his own wretchedness he chose and just swallowed his saliva of apologies. I could just spit at his face with such distaste! It enrages me the idea of that woman! that home wrecker stealing my role nurturing and caring for the man I swore I’ll only love. I hurt a hundred more times as I empathize with my children, our children experiencing this kind of injustice of fate. It’s all Harold’s fault!

The manometer rises.

If not for me then just for the children. He’s ignorant of sacrifices. What kind of father is he! I felt my ears red with the rush of disgusting images that flashes my imagination of what Harold and that woman do! My fingers grip tightens every pump. I’m about to burst with this outrageous scenario!

“Harold, you’re a terrible person!”, my voice is low but intense enough for him to hear and understand. “You’re a failure as a father! You don’t understand sacrifice because you let your family suffer your immature pursuit of your desire, no, your lust!”, I paused and focused my eyes on the meter while my ears on the snap. “If ever that woman of yours bore a child, I swear to God, I swear to the good Lord..”

Janice the intern interrupted, “Mr. Rosario your wife is safe now. The baby too is safe.”

I released the air valve and set down the stethoscope. My eyes are flaring with anger. I thought I saw in Harold’s apologetic eyes struggling to meet mine. It wasn’t stronger than this indignation. I mechanically stood up and checked the paper. The header reads ‘Mother of Sorrow General Hospital’, I read all the way down.

I heard nothing other than a prolonged ringing in my ears. But the halls are busy now with people being rushed in, nurses running, paging doctors over the p.a., some sobbing. I stood still as a statue with the impious papers still on my hands.

“Mom.”, Jacob said shakily with his hand on my right shoulder as if holding me back. I didn’t notice him enter the room with Janice. I’ve foreseen the next scenes in my head. I waited to feel my limbs. Harold just lies there. I’m not sure how long.

Open House Tonight

Let the souls come in
like a weary whisper of wind
on a raged weather.
There is enough void in the room
to fill or to feel
even a cumulus cloud could not crowd.
But tell them there’s no light here.
Light travels too fast
all we can huddle are sounds.
Feel free to compose vibrations
but don’t bother to create light.
Free drinks to water your damp souls
I heard some souls were cracking dry.
It’s an open house tonight
But tell them, rigidly
Their shadows are not welcome
there’s not enough void.

20130202-205008.jpg

I’m really a sapiosexual.

The Aeronautics of Flying Solo

The limit is the primary lie

You should fly pass over it

With aluminum wings

Wed with the Earth’s magnetism

You will never fly

You’re too fat, too heavy

Too afraid. Too afraid.

Fear is not part of the engine

But it is the fuel to burn.

The engine is purely imaginary.

The sky is an outlander

It welcomes only thin spirits

You’re earthbound poor earthling

Dear weighty earthling.

Until you stop listening to me,

No one but a wind’s whistle.

Until you begin to believe

I was lying all along

Limiting your earthbound toes.

20130202-015704.jpg

A screen capture from my short film, that is as well a self-portrait.

Monologue, Alunsina

Here, the joint place where we overlap

on the periphery, everything revolves

but passing, cascading, consuming

itself, lines are lights, vice versa, no

distinction only destination, yes like that cliche

“the end of the pot of gold”, I mean the end

of the rainbow. Distinction. Bleep bleep (a passing

car) I stand corrected. I stand connected 

with the light posts and (a)wires

reaching–embracing the city and its weary.

I trace them to where you are.

What now, we already came, or so

just I remembered. “No room for

memory”, my smartphone–smarter

than you said in the most formal tone.

A ringtone, for you, that’s all I can give

Photos stream with a touch–there I was 

again at where you were. Remember when…

Caprice. Dial… Redial… Drop

calls for another round, a bucket of sweaty

beer. Tap, pop, cling–an open bottle

again. That’s your spot, why did you

move when you need not to the most?

in bed you’re a cadaver, a corpse

of a goddess that left the corporeal world

a long time ago. You remain. You are no longer

Tap, pop, cling, “Pare tagay pa.”

How did I even lost myself here?

I found your traces misplaced, you live

there? Not anymore. Address

my needs oh blessed spirit of San Miguel

as the holy ghosts of Philip and Morris

(lights) watch upon me. Alunsina, you are no longer

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Theme: Esquire by Matthew Buchanan.

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