The Ides of March managed to gain a foothold until the eleventh hour, scorching the earth beneath her feet and the sensibilities around her. Thirty-five degrees--unless I am in Finland I should rejoice, but no. We are at Tagaytay's threshold, on land borrowed from the termites and close to the concrete jungle of an industrial park. She vengefully hurled all my memories of balm and bedlam, of destruction and destiny.

Of chlorine drying on my sunburned skin on our yearly sojourns to Pansol during high school, the last year veiled in a cloud of uncertainty and relief, and a reprise come college graduation on exactly the same pool, the same room, different people. I was the one left behind in 2046.

Of the papaya tree beside the National Center for Transport Studies, witness to the most devastating, turning point in my entire life. I was too close for comfort, she said. I literally turned away from her and into the woman I am destined to grow old with.

Of M/V Doulos and the humid stench of Manila Bay. How its package stained my yellow shirt in blue patches. Winnie-the-Pooh must've protested inside.

Of cross-stitching while drinking beer because we saw it fit and there were no available beverages around. Of wrestling in the grounds of a phosphate fertilizer plant. Night air laced with silicon dioxide from the copper smelter behind our quarters. Dirty and drunk dancing the rhumba.

Verve Pipe's Freshmen played on a taxi in Davao. Stockton Gala Days.

Walking by my lonesome: Singapore's Esplanade at 3AM. DOST's regional office in Los Banos. An empty University Avenue.

Parting with a newfound friend in a sea of Sunday people.

Every night is just the same. You're leaving me lonely now.

This entry was posted by sky, on Thursday, April 07, 2005. You can leave your response.