train story

It's nothing really, you and I simultaneously entering the MRT. (a lot of other people do that, no cosmic energy brought us together, we come not by fate, but for sheer time-in checks, curfews or the urge to simply go somewhere.) I assume you are going somewhere. I am too, I just don't know yet where that is.

when I was a little girl in my fathers car, I would look out the window and say "the clouds are following us!" and my father, driving ever so steadily just rode along with that smirk on his face not even bothering to correct me. He simply mutters "then we have to go faster," and then we do, watching the clouds racing to catch us as the gauge reads the highest speed he could pull off without earning a speeding ticket. we were fast, and while I thought no policeman could get us, the clouds did. They always did.

(that was my father then. now you can give him a ticket for being the slowest driver in the whole of metro manila.)

I guess I never really grew out of that feeling. I ride trains and pretend that the city is moving, for the motion of this train is imperceptible; I - we - are suspended in this cubicle while right outside is the world speeding by. I suppose in a sense that is true also, everything about this train is suspended, while outside, eveything is in motion. Everything about this train is suspended, especially the people - it's amazing how close they get without even sharing the most fundamental things - like a word, or eye contact; we all stand so unimaginably close, this distance usually reserved for couples, or siamese twins, and then the minute we get off the train, we disappear forever, in each others lives just like that. Forget that we stood so close to a stranger enough to feel the heartbeat we never even knew.

like one person said: this has the makings of a sad story.

we leave the train. life resumes.

the clock that hung on my wall,

it started turning backwards, as though it always have. 12 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8 - back it went. It was morning, and there I was, looking outside my window, at what was to me, the most interesting sunset.

and then my alarm starts ringing

and then I fell to the ceiling. my feet clung there, like some messed up gravity was tugging at my weight. (take that, Isaac Newton) I looked up, expecting the rest of my furniture to come crashing any minute, but they never did, it was just me. I fell to the ceiling and that's all there is to it.

I wondered, eyeing the glass. I looked at my eyes that looked at my eyes; I wondered, if my reflection is me. or if I am my reflection. If in this state of being upside down everything is changed. If everything is reversed, why do I still keep running? You would think, if you lose the chains, there would be no need to escape. I wonder. looking at the glass, if I am the one trapped in a mirror or if she is.

even the happiest people in the world still wear a frown. If you hang them upside down

still, there's the window: (here we go again) no more pixie-dusts this time, just the mere sight of that wide open window is comforting. I stood at the edge. This time, this leap of faith will not bring me crashing down down down, onto the hard ground. I fall, upwards, to the sky. (apparently in this alter-world gravitational law where in you never fall: you float.) If floating is just as fierce as falling, if floating means you still go nine point eight meters per second squared, the same acceleration as gravity, only upward.

but this leap of faith is one I have not yet taken, because the risks I take and the heights I brave are not inversely proportional to what I seek. and because it is much much easier, to watch everything from a distance.

then again maybe it wouldn't hurt as much - just in case the floating fails and I happen to land where the ground is hard and jagged rocks break my fall into a million pieces of crushed bones

when I came back, my reflection, she said: "the sexiest thing is trust" and that I was a big fat cow in thin girl's clothing. I was still thinking if she meant the opposite of what she said (because either way it would've made perfect sense)

I might as well be dreaming.
because I never fall. I float.

Still you'd think I have to wake up sometime.

faith, trust and pixiedust!

So there I was, catching falling stars on my bed one night and contemplating on my longest ever crush on peter pan. Maybe if he were for real (and if dogs really could fly) I could too, if only I didn't know that while I believed so much on fairies, my fairies never did so believe in me. I could not blame them; I never really took off the galaxies stuffed in my pockets, and I kept on catching more falling stars than I could hold in my hands. They must have thought that it was this weight that kept me anchored to the ground.

I found pixie dust sprinkled inside my shoes, when I finally got off the bed. Only I didn't get that magical feeling in the movies, (the room did not echo "you can fly, you can fly!" ) It stung my feet instead, like when you sit on your leg for too long, stung my feet like having that funny bone on your elbow hit by the classroom chair. I liked wearing them anyway, for it reminded me of peter pan (and have I mentioned that I had the longest crush on him?) and I thought maybe if I wore these pixie shoes, by some good fairytale karma, he would appear. Even though it stung. (Even though I didn't know yet that later on, it will bleed.)

Anyway I always kept my needles ready, just in case he drops by searching for his shadow.

So then my window flew open, as I watched in awe as the second star to the right shone brighter and brighter, I ran to the sill and stood on the roof thinking of what it's like, face to face with your most elusive dream - must have been that same feeling in the wax museum when you're face to face with hollywood stars, only better. (as I have never really found wax a legitimate substitute for human beings - wax hands are too slippery to hold.) Peter pan was more than a Michael Jackson. Heck, peter pan was far greater to me then even Elvis.

I felt afloat. My feet began to leave the roof tiles - I was going to fly! I gave it one huge leap of faith, and I drifted into the endless sky. (And for the first time ever, like that cow in the nursery rhyme, I finally understood how it felt to jump over the moon)

I didn't stay there for long though. Next thing I knew I was being pulled hard into the earth, plunging into the darkness underneath me. Down down down down down down

It was a seemingly endless fall. How high have I really been? Down down down down

Down down down I couldn't have crashed harder. the moment I hit the ground I felt my bones dig themselves into my other bones, and the stars that I have held so dearly in these pockets fell all over the place, dug themselves into my skin, like shards of that full length mirror that used to hang in our old apartment, (along with those five years of bad luck multiplied by a thousand stars and a few dozen galaxies and the remains of the first dog in space)

I had legitimate reasons to cry then, only I figured that crying is not as much fun as laughing, And so I did. And all of a sudden I realized that it takes more than pixie dust to fly.

And while I thought that my fairies never did believe in me, I felt myself begin to rise.

(I never found my Peter, but who am I to protest now that I'm in Neverland?)


♥

train story

It's nothing really, you and I simultaneously entering the MRT. (a lot of other people do that, no cosmic energy brought us together, we come not by fate, but for sheer time-in checks, curfews or the urge to simply go somewhere.) I assume you are going somewhere. I am too, I just don't know yet where that is.

when I was a little girl in my fathers car, I would look out the window and say "the clouds are following us!" and my father, driving ever so steadily just rode along with that smirk on his face not even bothering to correct me. He simply mutters "then we have to go faster," and then we do, watching the clouds racing to catch us as the gauge reads the highest speed he could pull off without earning a speeding ticket. we were fast, and while I thought no policeman could get us, the clouds did. They always did.

(that was my father then. now you can give him a ticket for being the slowest driver in the whole of metro manila.)

I guess I never really grew out of that feeling. I ride trains and pretend that the city is moving, for the motion of this train is imperceptible; I - we - are suspended in this cubicle while right outside is the world speeding by. I suppose in a sense that is true also, everything about this train is suspended, while outside, eveything is in motion. Everything about this train is suspended, especially the people - it's amazing how close they get without even sharing the most fundamental things - like a word, or eye contact; we all stand so unimaginably close, this distance usually reserved for couples, or siamese twins, and then the minute we get off the train, we disappear forever, in each others lives just like that. Forget that we stood so close to a stranger enough to feel the heartbeat we never even knew.

like one person said: this has the makings of a sad story.

we leave the train. life resumes.

the clock that hung on my wall,

it started turning backwards, as though it always have. 12 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8 - back it went. It was morning, and there I was, looking outside my window, at what was to me, the most interesting sunset.

and then my alarm starts ringing

and then I fell to the ceiling. my feet clung there, like some messed up gravity was tugging at my weight. (take that, Isaac Newton) I looked up, expecting the rest of my furniture to come crashing any minute, but they never did, it was just me. I fell to the ceiling and that's all there is to it.

I wondered, eyeing the glass. I looked at my eyes that looked at my eyes; I wondered, if my reflection is me. or if I am my reflection. If in this state of being upside down everything is changed. If everything is reversed, why do I still keep running? You would think, if you lose the chains, there would be no need to escape. I wonder. looking at the glass, if I am the one trapped in a mirror or if she is.

even the happiest people in the world still wear a frown. If you hang them upside down

still, there's the window: (here we go again) no more pixie-dusts this time, just the mere sight of that wide open window is comforting. I stood at the edge. This time, this leap of faith will not bring me crashing down down down, onto the hard ground. I fall, upwards, to the sky. (apparently in this alter-world gravitational law where in you never fall: you float.) If floating is just as fierce as falling, if floating means you still go nine point eight meters per second squared, the same acceleration as gravity, only upward.

but this leap of faith is one I have not yet taken, because the risks I take and the heights I brave are not inversely proportional to what I seek. and because it is much much easier, to watch everything from a distance.

then again maybe it wouldn't hurt as much - just in case the floating fails and I happen to land where the ground is hard and jagged rocks break my fall into a million pieces of crushed bones

when I came back, my reflection, she said: "the sexiest thing is trust" and that I was a big fat cow in thin girl's clothing. I was still thinking if she meant the opposite of what she said (because either way it would've made perfect sense)

I might as well be dreaming.
because I never fall. I float.

Still you'd think I have to wake up sometime.

faith, trust and pixiedust!

So there I was, catching falling stars on my bed one night and contemplating on my longest ever crush on peter pan. Maybe if he were for real (and if dogs really could fly) I could too, if only I didn't know that while I believed so much on fairies, my fairies never did so believe in me. I could not blame them; I never really took off the galaxies stuffed in my pockets, and I kept on catching more falling stars than I could hold in my hands. They must have thought that it was this weight that kept me anchored to the ground.

I found pixie dust sprinkled inside my shoes, when I finally got off the bed. Only I didn't get that magical feeling in the movies, (the room did not echo "you can fly, you can fly!" ) It stung my feet instead, like when you sit on your leg for too long, stung my feet like having that funny bone on your elbow hit by the classroom chair. I liked wearing them anyway, for it reminded me of peter pan (and have I mentioned that I had the longest crush on him?) and I thought maybe if I wore these pixie shoes, by some good fairytale karma, he would appear. Even though it stung. (Even though I didn't know yet that later on, it will bleed.)

Anyway I always kept my needles ready, just in case he drops by searching for his shadow.

So then my window flew open, as I watched in awe as the second star to the right shone brighter and brighter, I ran to the sill and stood on the roof thinking of what it's like, face to face with your most elusive dream - must have been that same feeling in the wax museum when you're face to face with hollywood stars, only better. (as I have never really found wax a legitimate substitute for human beings - wax hands are too slippery to hold.) Peter pan was more than a Michael Jackson. Heck, peter pan was far greater to me then even Elvis.

I felt afloat. My feet began to leave the roof tiles - I was going to fly! I gave it one huge leap of faith, and I drifted into the endless sky. (And for the first time ever, like that cow in the nursery rhyme, I finally understood how it felt to jump over the moon)

I didn't stay there for long though. Next thing I knew I was being pulled hard into the earth, plunging into the darkness underneath me. Down down down down down down

It was a seemingly endless fall. How high have I really been? Down down down down

Down down down I couldn't have crashed harder. the moment I hit the ground I felt my bones dig themselves into my other bones, and the stars that I have held so dearly in these pockets fell all over the place, dug themselves into my skin, like shards of that full length mirror that used to hang in our old apartment, (along with those five years of bad luck multiplied by a thousand stars and a few dozen galaxies and the remains of the first dog in space)

I had legitimate reasons to cry then, only I figured that crying is not as much fun as laughing, And so I did. And all of a sudden I realized that it takes more than pixie dust to fly.

And while I thought that my fairies never did believe in me, I felt myself begin to rise.

(I never found my Peter, but who am I to protest now that I'm in Neverland?)


♥