in between inhales and exhales

When the Sandman forgets to visit you, I will hold your hand. I will wait for you to finish staring at your tea. I will trace the stars on your skin, and wait.

When my soul feels too heavy to wait for you, I will hold you close in a tight embrace and pray to God my arms would never let you go. I’ll pray my hardest.

When you run out of our room and into your own, I will not follow you. I will wait by the door and count the sound the water makes when it hears only our gravity and falls on the floor. When it feels like the air has drowned all sound, I shall make my own and wait for you. I’ll spell your name out into the world until it begs me to stop and you return.

I shall make pancakes when you come back. The way you want them to; not pale nor crispy just something in between — somewhat in the grays.

And when I can no longer remember the face of the Sandman, and can only dance to the faint memory of your heartbeat, I shall still wait for you. I will.

イサベラ

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12.08.17 – Friday

Dear internet people of the present and the future,

I have been dragging my ill physical self to work for more than a week now. I have not had the chance to take a sick leave because of the many things we had to accomplish. But as mere mortals, our bodies are destined to just betray us at one point despite our efforts — mine did. I had to claim two sick leaves and had to go back to work today even if I have not completely recovered.

Today’s classroom scenario with my grade 3 boys:

Student 1: Hi! Are you feeling better now?
Me: Well. . . yes, but I’m still not completely okay.
Student 2: Then, why are you here?
Me: Because you have a test today and I’m worried for you guys.
Student 3: What? You shouldn’t be worried! We’re ready for the test.
Me: Okay! Cool. Is everyone ready for the test?
Everyone: YESSSSSS!!!
Me: Well, let’s start then! Bring out the materials you need for the test.

Half of the class: . . .
Half of my heart: . . .

Half the class: It’s not with me. It’s in my locker. What materials?
Me: This. is. why. I’m. worried.

Student 3: . . .

But I surely missed them — my sweet little boys.

イサベラ

“Line them up like purple pansies”

I never understood what it meant. You used to say this when you lay asleep in the middle of the night.

I told you about it once and you laughed at me. I never understood what they meant — your laughter and the sentence that seemed to belong in your dreams.

I never told you about it. But I will tell you now.

The first time I heard you speak in your sleep woke me up in a haste. Your voice was clear and cold when you commanded him, her, or them to line them up like purple pansies.

I sat up and watched you sleep; waiting for you to say them again. You never did.

I heard it once more but this time you were probably in a different dream. You whispered that I should line them up like purple pansies. I was bewildered. I allowed myself to smile at your strange sleeping habit.

I moved some hair off your face and whispered back. Yes, love, I will line them up like purple pansies. I got up and turned the lights out.

I must say that I heard them countless times. Each time, was different from the other time. The only thing that remained similar was that I never understood what it meant.

I still don’t but I miss the way you say it.

イサベラ

(C) image

 

Rakugo in Manila

“A day without laughter is a day wasted.” — Charlie Chaplin

In my zombie-state, I signed-up for a Rakugo performance without really knowing what it is. I only knew that it was something Japanese and admission is free via raffle draw. I guess I’ve never had much luck with lottery and random picks that I wasn’t really expecting much. Much to my surprise, I got two tickets.

With the busy schedule I was having at work, I didn’t have time to research what Rakugo is  so I went there with with my youngest sister armed with very little knowledge on what was to come. I only knew that it was similar to storytelling and that the storyteller barely used props.

Rakugo is a 400-year-old tradition of comic storytelling in Japan. A minimalistic performance art, Rakugo features a lone storyteller dressed in kimono, kneeling on a cushion, who, using only a fan and a hand towel for props, entertains the audience with a comic monologue followed by a traditional story. — rakugo.co.uk

Much to my delight, it was a sit-down comedy show. To say that it was delightfully entertaining is an understatement. For lack of a better term, it was impressive.

I believe that humour depends so much on personality and experience. This is definitely my cup of tea. The Rakugo masters were all very hilarious. The jokes were very witty.  It wasn’t excessive on props because the jokes depended heavily on facial expression and delivery. It was a complete package!

They even included other performances like Daikagura or traditional clowning.Screen Shot 2017-10-08 at 10.11.39 AM.png

The show lasted for two hours. We had a difficult time going home because the venue is a bit far from home but that didn’t bother us because it was a day well spent. I have unintentionally removed my work-induced zombie state.

If you ever get the chance to attend a Rakugo event, I hope you could try it out! Go there without expectations and I assure you that you will be blown away. Release them endorphins!

イサベラ

Continue reading “Rakugo in Manila”

“Aha,” exclaimed the Cheshire Cat. His grin was so luminescent if anyone would ask, I’d say somebody hung two moons that night.

“I knew I’d find you here,” exclaimed the cat.
“– or maybe not,” he mumbled.

“What seems to be bothering you?” he inquired.
“Alice?”

“Hmmm.. Well… I was just wondering what becomes of me if I ever disappear from this reality,” she whispered.

“Well… Let’s see. How would you like to be remembered?” asked the Cheshire Cat

“I don’t know. Just, you know — like me,” she murmured.

“Oh please!” he chuckled.
“Nobody is ever remembered just for who they are,” the Cheshire Cat continued.

“You see… we all have different eyes.”

and he vanished ever so slowly
into the
n i g h t .

イサベラ

(c) image

come closer, baby

I tried to leave behind thoughts and feelings of emptiness while I closed another Murakami book I borrowed from the library. Of course Murakami’s effect on me did not permit me to do so. These never-ending thoughts lingered in my mind like liquid cough syrup. I hated the way these thoughts stay and do nothing there. They just stay — much like the pungent smell of a coworker’s perfume.

“Is it possible, finally for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another?”

Rather than wondering whether this is possible, the question of whether anyone would care so much to really try to understand and get close enough to me — my essence is bugging me. I know I’m a difficult person to uncover and much more, to understand. But that’s not the point. I’m not scared of that. In fact, I am completely aware of that. What worries me is whether anyone would even put an effort to try.

Would anyone get so close enough to knowing that I don’t like pineapples on dishes but would kill to have that ice cold pineapple juice? That the smell of fresh laundry comforts me as much as a cup of warm coffee. That the sound of the neighbors fighting or arguing gets me anxious or that I do not like my hair being touched.

I can go on and on for a long time… but would anyone even care enough to ask or even wonder?

“Would I ever see the rest? Or would I grow old and die without ever really knowing her?”

イサベラ