At Mornings Like These.

It’s a new morning, yes. I love mornings. I love the smell of breakfasts. I love how sunlight slowly creeps through the trees and branches near our house. It’s a constant feeling of renewal—that I could do something good today, live far from yesterday and to look forward to tomorrow.

Yes, I do love mornings.

But I do hate waking up alone in an empty house.

(It breaks my heart to know that no one even bothers to tell me that they’re leaving. They just leave; lock the front door and let me find out for myself. But they do leave breakfast out for me, that’s nice.)

It’s just when I’m home alone like this, I can’t help but to think that no one’s gonna come back. How miserable it would be, to stay in a house and wait for someone to go home to you, but never will.

*Sigh, family issues.

The silence is deafening. I plan to watch anime after writing this, just to drown it out. I’m scared. 

What I'm Waiting/Looking For

People often have ideas on what kind of Love they’re waiting/looking for. Other people say that they want someone who would stand by them through thick and thin, someone who would be their partner in life, facing challenges together. Some people say someone they could watch the stars with. Others still, would say someone who can see right through them. I could go on forever about what people say about Love, but, hey, what’s Hollywood for then? :))

We all have our different ideas on love, different expectations, different people we’re waiting or looking for.

 As for me, what am I looking for?

I’m not the type to want being tied down to something. Okay, maybe I have commitment issues. (I can see myself in a relationship, yes, but just not now.) Right now, the idea on the matter is: I want someone who would allow me to have my own adventures. I want to see the world through my eyes and taste it as it is. And, that person, I will allow him to do the same. I don’t want to be with him all the hours of the day.

 We’ll have our own adventures.

But, every night, when it is time for rest, I want to go home to a person. And I want that person to go home to me too. I want us to talk to each other and tell each other stories of what happened during the day. I can see myself going: Amazing! or like: Too bad. And he can say the same to my stories. I’ll laugh over dinner and a joke he thought of earlier today. I’d cry and he’d hug me tight (I can do the same). He’d get upset at me but can’t stay mad too long. A home.

And before going to bed, he’d hold my hand, just to let me know that he’d be there in the morning (I hate waking up to an empty house). And when I do wake up (I presume I’d wake up earlier than him), I’ll stroke his hair and admire his face, the man I love. I’ll get up, get ready for another day, with new adventures and new challenges, knowing that I can come home to this person.

And no matter how badly the world treats me, whatever the insignificant people think of me, I wouldn’t care, because I know I have a home I can go home to. 

In Memory of Pedro by Abba Moreno

In Memory of Pedro

By: Abba Marie Moreno

 

Pedro was a valiant knight;

he fought his last battle well.

 

I can still smell the sweet summer

evening I entrusted him to you,

a gift for our first anniversary

(with a bouquet of lipstick-red roses).

Your eyes spelled out burning infatuation

and poured out cold droplets of joy.

I kissed you amidst the candlelit glow

of the planned perfection for the evening.

We were so in love.

You asked me why I gave you a teddy bear:

to keep the monsters away while you sleep.

(You thought it sweet, I was jesting.)

You blushed a little and smiled radiantly.

(Ah, I never forgot that candlelight smile of yours.)

You made an eager promise to keep

the stuffed bear by your bed each night.

                                    You were so in love.

Let’s name him: Pedro.

 

A man once told me

that the hardest things to let go of

were the things you never really had.

We weren’t as in too deep as we thought, Mary.

I was in love with the perfection that was us.

You were in love with an image in the mirror

that you thought that was me.

We had to end it.

 

But I never understood why

you had to involve Pedro with ‘us’.

I raced towards your apartment

after the phone call from your sobbing mother.

It was a dreary day drenched in October showers.

Her trembling finger pointed towards your bedroom

(I retraced my steps from the nights I spent over).

I saw your lifeless form bent crookedly on the floor

and sprawled on a pool of your once-precious blood.

You put a bag over your head and cut your throat.

The mirror read: I don’t want you to see me like this.

(All you are now is a candlelight smile.)

 

The room was a magnificent mess:

embellished with the torn sheets and ripped curtains

adorned with walls that bled curses in lipstick

and sprinkled with shards of colored glass and porcelain.

(I’ve always disliked your unkemptness.)

My eyes examined the room and

I saw Pedro decapitated,

bleeding of polyester

from scissors-stab-wounds

you inflicted. I guess,

he couldn’t protect himself

from the creatures underneath your bed

or save you from the monsters inside your head.

 

Rest in peace.

 

 

 

Sixth on Seventh Street by Abba Marie Moreno (Poem, to be edited)

Sixth on Seventh Street

By Abba Marie Moreno

 

The café is always open

for patient souls like mine.

I sit on this reserved

table for two, alone

with the full moon

watching over

the untouched cup

of hazelnut coffee you like so much.

It’s getting cold.

(You never show up.)

 

The clock strikes ten,

it is time

for me to wait

under the sixth lamppost

of Seventh street in

Whitechapel.

We met there last night, didn’t we?

Perhaps, you remembered,

I remember, I remember so well

that I can almost—

   hear your humming hair

     sing with the nocturne breeze,

       taste your sweet sweet voice

         screaming of raw pleasure

           from the thrilling games we play.

          (Remember, we played Surgeon,

And I put my hand in your—

 

(The click-clacks

of your high heels

are beckoning me.)

Here you come.

 

 

Why can I smell such fear

from your bright blue eyes?
Can’t you remember, Victoria,

all the good times we had?

Our nights? Our kisses? Our love?

You aren’t Victoria?

(And you say your name is Mary)

Deny yourself not—to me.

Remember, the divine being you are.

Or remember me, at least.

 

 

Perhaps, if I kiss you,

you might remember,

just like in fairytales,

and finally fear will vanish

from your soft eyes

and your trembling lips.

 

Just let me get a little closer.

 

Don’t scream, woman!

Mellifluous voices such as yours

should not make awful shrieking sounds.

Stay calm. The world is empty,

‘cept for you and me—

 

 

 

—and this knife.

Don’t worry, I can protect you.

There is no reason to escape.

Stop resisting!

Perhaps a little pain

will catch your   /attention;

like we do, as always.

You know, I never enjoy

hurting you like this, Victoria,

it’s just that

            you never learn.

What? You’re crying?

I’ve always told you that

I hate seeing you sad.

Stop it, Victoria, it’s killing me.

Smile, Victoria.

It’s torture, Victoria.

Stop crying, please.

Please, it’s hurting me.

Please,

don’t make me do this.

Stop your wailing, bitch!

 

---

(from left to right)

 

 

My light, my love,

What have I done?

Your beautiful smooth neck,

I’ve ruined it (No, the knife did!).

This flowing stream of warm rubies

dripping from your open throat

will always haunt me.

It was your fault, Victoria.

You made me do it.

Now, the fool moon has

witnessed this tragedy,

And this Romeo has lost

his beloved Juliet.

Perhaps I should follow you

into the valley of death;

then forever, we shall be together.

Your hair, your skin, I shall miss them.

Your face, your legs, your neck,

Your lips, your blood, your eyes—

 

Your eyes…

 

are blue.

Victoria’s eyes are as green as emeralds.

Ha! How could I have mistaken this wretch,

for my beloved, Victoria?

Sorry, Lady, honest mistake.

(I am quite unlucky,

this is the third time

this month.)

 

 

No matter, Victoria,

I can always wait for you.

The café is always open

for patient souls like mine.

 

 

Gratitude

September 10, 2011

 

*Inhale. Exhale.* Here it goes.

 

Normally, when something goes wrong for a friend, or for myself, I would be the one who’d go:

“Life’s a bitch. Deal with it.”

“Ganyan ang buhay eh, nanggagago.“

“Sino bang nagsabi madali ang buhay?“

 

Dyan, dyan ako magaling—ang galing ko sisihin ang mundo sa lahat ng kasamaan na nakikita ko.

Oo, masama ang mundo.

It will hurt you.

And screw with your head so much,

that sometimes you wish you weren’t born.

 

but… the world isn’t all that bad.

The world is filled with people that will and can love you.

Life can be beautiful.

When you wake up in the morning and see the sun shining, isn’t it only right that you should say: “It’s good to be alive, at least.”

 

I guess, what I’m trying to say is that: I’ve been looking at it all the wrong way. I mean, sure, Life can be a bitch, but isn’t it so much more?

(I mean, well, I can be a bitch, but I’m so much more than that, right? Maybe it applies =)) )

 

Buong buhay ko, hindi ako nakaramdam ng ganitong sense of gratitude. I guess, it’s time to look at life in a different way. Kasi dati, kapag may masamang nangyari, tinitiis ko na lang. Dapat kasi, hanapin ang mabuti sa masama—that’s the way to go. That way, it’s not torture nor martyrdom: it’s an unending well of gratitude and contentment. Life should be something like that.

 

I want to be able to say:

YES, I AM THANKFUL FOR ALL THE GOOD THINGS AND THE BAD THINGS LIFE THROWS MY WAY.

YES, THAT IS MY PAIN AND I AM THANKFUL. YES, THAT IS MY BLISS AND I AM THANKFUL.

YES, I AM AT RAGE, AND I AM THANKFUL. YES, I AM IN LOVE, AND I AM THANKFUL.

YES, THIS IS ME, AND I AM THANKFUL.

 

Coming from my recent realizations, I want to see the beauty of the world—and, perhaps, only I have the power to do that. I want to learn to love myself, and to fall in love also. I want to change from my ways and become a better person—to wake up to new mornings and new beginnings.

 

This is a start of a new life. 

Hierarchy of Crushes by Abba Marie Moreno

Ang Mga Antas ng Crush

By: Abba Marie Moreno

 

Marahan kang naglalakad papunta sa iyong susunod na klase. Alam mo na oras na. Tumitingin ka sa paligid. Ang mga mata mo’y hinahanap ang pares na gustong makatagpo. Patuloy na bumibilis at bumabagal ang pagtibok ng iyong puso.

            Hindi mo siya makita.

 

Kumbinsidong hindi mo siya naabutan, biglang may kumalabit sa iyo. Nginitian ka niya at siya’y kaagad umalis patungo sa kanyang susunod na klase. Habang papalayo, lumingon siya at sandaling nagtagpo ang inyong mga pagtitig. Sa segundong iyon, isang mala-kuryenteng kagalakan ang dumaloy sa iyong mga ugat. Kilig.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lahat naman tayo dumadaan sa crush di ba? Maraming kahulugan ang salitang ito, sapagkat iba-iba ang maaaring depinisyon ng bawat isa sa atin. Para sa akin, ang crush ay pagkakagusto  o paghanga sa isang tao. Hindi ito katumbas ng love o pag-ibig. Sa halip, ito ay maaaring katumbas ng infatuation sa Ingles.

 

Para sa akin, may mga antas ang crush—ayon sa dahilan ng pagkakagusto at sa kung gaano tumatagal. Ang mga antas ay: (1) happy crush, (2) prospect-intermediate at (3) crush.

 

1) Happy Crush – Ang Unang Antas

Ito ang pinakamababaw na uri ng crush. Ito ang pinakamabilis na maitaguyod na estado ng pagkakagusto ngunit ito rin ang pinakamabilis mawala. Karaniwang mga dahilan ng pagiging happy crush ay: kaguwapuhan, katalinuhan, kagalingan sa sports, etc. Sa madaling salita, ang pagkakagusto sa happy crush ay dulot ng mga katangian ng taong hinahangaan—hindi ang kanyang personalidad at katauhan. Hindi kailangan ng personal na koneksyon ang humahanga at hinahangaan sa pagtaguyod ng estado ng happy crush. Magandang halimbawa ng happy crush ay ang mga celebrity crushes—karaniwang pisikal na kaanyuan ang nagugustuhan at hindi kilala nang personal ang mga fans ang mga celebrities.

 

2) Prospect-Intermediate – Ang Gitnang Antas

            Ang antas na ito ay sumunod sa happy crush. Ang paghanga o pagkagusto sa antas na ito ay higit pa sa mga pisikal o panlabas na katangian lamang. Dito pumapasok na ang pagkagusto sa personalidad ng hinahangaan—kung kaya, masasabi rin na kailangan ng personal na ugnayan (kahit kaunti lamang) sa pagitan ng humahanga at hinahangaan. Sa antas na ito madalas naiisip ang mga ideyang: “Okay pala ang ugali niya,” o kaya, “She’s more than just a pretty face.”

            May dalawang uri ng crush sa antas na ito: prospect at intermediate. Pareho ang dahilan at intensidad ng pagkakagusto ng dalawang uri, magkaiba lang ang dalawa sa intensyon ng humahanga para sa kanyang nararamdaman.

            Una, ang Prospect: kapag ganito ang uri ng crush ang nararamdaman ng humahanga. Naiisip niya na okay ang kanyang hinahangaan at nais niya pang makilala ito. Bukas siya sa posibilidad na magustuhan niya pa lalo ang kanyang prospect o hinahangaan. Maaaring tumuloy ang uri na ito patungo sa susunod na antas.

            Ang Intermediate naman ay nakakaisip na okay ang kanyang nagugustuhan ngunit ayaw niya nang lumago ang kanyang nararamdaman. Tinawag na intermediate ang estado na ito sapagkat naghihintay na lamang ang humahanga na makahanap ng bagong magugustuhan. Nararating ang uri na ito sa mga kadahilanang tulad ng: “Alam kong walang patutunguhan ito,” at nais lang manatili ang humahanga sa pagkakagusto.

 

 3) Crush – Ang Huling Antas

Crush ang pinakamataas na antas at ang may pinakamalalim na paghanga. Ito ay higit sa happy crush at prospect-intermediate. Masasabi na nasa antas na ito kung ang dahilan ng paghanga ay ang mismong pagkatao ng hinahangaan. Kadalasan hindi masagot nang madali ang tanong na: “Bakit mo siya gusto?” Nahihirapan ang humahanga sapagkat hindi ito katulad ng happy crush na madaling maglista ng mga katangian. Sa antas na ito, mabuting magkaibigan na ang humahanga at hinahangaan at lubos na nilang kilala ang isa’t isa. Ito ang uri ng paghanga na tumatagal sapagkat ito ay may pundasyon ng pagkakaibigan. Ito ang uri ng crush na may pinakamalaking probabilidad na tumuloy sa pag-ibig.

 

            Katulad ng sinabi sa mga nakaraang talata, karaniwan ang pagkakaroon ng crush. Normal lamang na magkagusto sa ibang tao ngunit mas mabuti kung alam mo ang kalikasan ng iyong paghanga. Makatutulong ito upang maiwasan ang padalus-dalos na mga desisyon.

 

For all the ones that leave by Abba Marie Moreno

For all the ones that leave

By Abba Marie Moreno

 

For all the ones I miss,

A TOAST!

(I just turned eighteen!)

A glass of some fine wine

to celebrate and to commemorate

all the fine some-times

we had. Wine,

its flavor enriched by Time,

a fitting drink for this occasion.

(We’ll meet again, some day

and our times will be sweeter.)

 

For all the ones I’ll miss,

a shot of vodka.

Vodka: fiery, fervid, fleeting—

leaving throats parched for more.

Too much stains with a faint

taste of memory.

(Was it all a dream?)

Vodka fits perfectly

for this farewell.

(I won’t see you again, but,

surely, you will be missed.)

 

The days have come

and the nights have passed,

And I’ve realized that:

I should buy more vodka.