racecar
by Abba Marie Moreno
“To be or not to be?
That is the question.”
Hamlet asked the audience
under the stage lighting.
He died.
(Hamlet did)
But the actor lived
to play Romeo
another night.
Another night
to play Romeo,
but the actor died.
He lived.
(Romeo did;
and Hamlet too)
Under the stage lighting,
Hamlet asked the audience:
“Is that the question,
To be or not to be?”
(in The End, who died?)
Nine in the Afternoon
By Abba Marie S. Moreno
The air about this bare living room seems surreal. I am alone. The gleaming light outside the window suggests it is early afternoon—the clock reads 9 o’clock, but it strangely feels like about two in the afternoon and I can barely feel the heat. I noticed that the clock is not moving. I moved about in the room slowly, sat on the couch and sleepily stared onto the floor (for no apparent reason). I suddenly heard the wind chimes on our door, soon followed by the sound of our front door gently closing. I immediately looked towards that direction, I was too late to see the person leaving, all I saw were the chimes softly swinging and the closed door. I wonder who that was. The curiosity lingered until the alarms of panic took it away. Was there a stranger in the house? Was that a burglar? Was anything stolen? I briefly inventoried the room filled with sudden tension. Nothing was amiss. The tension subsided and once again, I am alone in the bare living room, perhaps the house even. The silence reassures me.
Moving closer to lock the front door, I saw a small box on the nearby end table. A simple cardboard box for gifts, only without the wrapping. My curiosity peaked, I was alone anyway, so I opened it. There lay a sticky-note inside, I took it out. Though the lights were off, the light from outside let me read it. It read: It’s only a matter of time.
Weird much? I thought to myself. The thoughts came rushing in: So someone broke into our house to leave a note? It could have been a relative, or my sister playing jokes. I held the note once again, and read it aloud: It’s only a matter of time.
It’s only a matter of time.
“It’s only a matter of time,” the thought was bouncing about inside my head. I am on my brother’s bed. Oh yeah, that’s right, I took a nap in my brother’s room. I knew it, I was dreaming some weird dream again. I want to lie down a bit more. I closed my eyes and stayed on the bed. Slowly, I began to hear raised voices from the living room. They were my parents’. Another stupid argument, I presume. By this time, I’ve gotten used to it (that’s what I like to think). Sometimes I can just shrug it off and sometimes I tear up a bit. I stood up and headed toward the door. I should at least check whether my sister is alone there. Before I reached the living room, the voices suddenly stopped. The anxious silence hung in the air like heavy smoke.
I went to the living room.
What the fuck is this?
Aside from those, everything seemed pretty normal (with the argument and all). My older brother was there, with my sister; my mom and dad not looking at each other. Faces that try to hide the tension (but to no success) and ears that attempt to not hear the awkward silence (to no success). The clock read 2:15 pm.
But what the hell are THOSE?
Do you know what a stopwatch screen looks like? It reads --:--:-- (for hours, minutes and seconds respectively and if it’s really nice it has nanoseconds). Yeah, I saw those floating above my family members’ heads, only they were sets of 7 pairs of numbers, like this (but with numbrs of course):
--:--:--:--:--:--:-- (the best guess was: years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds respectively).
I studied the numbers, they were counting down. And yes, I’m in extreme mindfuck because I have watched Deathnote and was it possible to suddenly wake up to have Shinigami eyes? I was just standing there on the edge of the nervous living room with my mind being blown up at the same time. Oh wait, this was an argument. The silence was terrible, it was longer than ever before. My mom looked resilient with her near tears. I looked towards my dad; surprisingly, his countdown was almost zero. I didn’t know what to do; the thoughts came flooding in. Is he going to die? How can I stop it? What should I do? What happens if I wait it out? In the end, I stood with the last question (terrible, I know).
00:00:00:00:00:00:05. 04, 03, 02, 01…00.
“Cel, I can’t take this anymore,” said my dad. I felt it—my kuya did too, he took us all into his room and convinced us to watch something on the laptop—we all felt it: the sincerity, the urgency, the honesty of what he said. We all knew it was coming, the day that he would leave.
The day ends. My dad packed his stuff and went to my Lola’s house.
No one cried. Sadness registered on our faces but none of shock. Like I said, we all knew it was coming and, perhaps, we all knew it was for the better. If it were any day but this one, I would started to sulk slowly—about our family not holding out, about my expectations of him being right, you know, all the sulky things I should sulk about. But no, today was different. Today I had the ability to know how much time I had before people, individuals left my life.
The ‘countdowns’ on my remaining family members were fine. More years to come; though my mom’s was significantly shorter than my brother’s or my sister’s. I realized why, I prefer not to write it down.
It’s only a matter of time. It’s only a matter of time before people leave you. I guess that’s what the dream meant. Family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances (,lovers?), they all leave you after some time (only with varied lengths). May the reason be fights, moving-away’s or deaths (that’s for the loyal ones). Nothing and no one in this world can stay.
It’s 8:30 pm. We had dinner already and everything is normal (or pretending to be normal, whatever). Amazing thing I discovered. I can see countdowns even in pictures. Although, if it’s someone I don’t know or have no connection with whatsoever the countdown looks like this:
--:--:--:--:--:--:-- (numberless, which happened when my dad’s countdown after zero).
I brushed my teeth and prepared for bed. I went inside my room and turned on the laptop. Facebook. Surprising discoveries.
Between being a blessing and a curse, I’m pretty sure it was a curse, this gift (or should I say ‘skill’ because using the word ‘gift’ is ironic). A good number of people whom I hang out with and trust had countdowns only with a few months left. I have a pretty guess that the quality of our trusts would degrade along those months. A few, those I don’t think of much and actually disliked, had countdowns all the way to ten’s, twenties, and even thirty-years. Surprising, shocking, disappointing? Relieved? This is not how it’s supposed to be. Love, friendship and trust is about faith, there should be no certainty as to how long people stay in your life. If there is, that is not faith, not trust, not friendship, not love.
I’ve yet to see pictures of the few good friends I love and miss. I decided to turn off the laptop to avoid the horrible event and went to bed. I lay down on the bed trying to sleep with thoughts like: What do I do now? I can’t…shouldn’t see their faces. What am I gonna do? Hide? This is a nightmare…and what if…I stand in front of a good friend or a lover, seeing the countdown slowly approaching zero? Oh what pain that will be! It’s only a matter of time, it’s only a matter of time before it happens.
It’s only a matter of time.
“It’s only a matter of time,” said a man in a black suit.
“Before people leave your life, I know,” I finished the man’s sentence. I am in the same place as the previous dream. The supposed heat, the light outside, the emptiness, the surrealism, the clock that reads: nine in the afternoon. The man was holding the previous cardboard box. There was no countdown on his head, no “--:--:--“ either.
“Who are you? And what did you do to me? I’m dreaming again, right? Change me back. I don’t want this sick gift of yours,” the words came out of my mouth uncontrollably.
“Me? You wrote about me once, but it’s not important.” He replied. He seemed blurry, or maybe it was because of the atmosphere of the dream.
“Change me back, please. I don’t want to know how much time I have before people leave me. I feel lonely already, without that ability, and this is just torture. It hurts.” My words kept spilling.
The man sighed. “As you wish. Although, I really planned to take it back now.” I felt relieved. “Although, I’d just like to correct you. It’s only a matter of time…”
“Before people leave.” I said once again.
“Nope.” He walked towards the window and stared outside, “It’s only a matter of time before YOU leave them.” He smiled a bit.
“What do you mean?” I asked (though I’m pretty sure I know what he meant).
“It means that…” He looked towards me, who was sitting on the couch, “all those numbers you saw weren’t the time left before they left you. They were the respective times remaining before you left them, before you lost faith in them.” It shouldn’t have come as a shock to me but it did. I sat motionless while he walked out of our door once again. The chimes, the sounds, the silence thereafter.
I woke up on my bed, I’m guessing it’s five in the morning. It’s dark and silent. I slowly closed my eyes and thought.
Before I left them. Ha. Oo nga no. How could I have guessed? I have been through a lot of pains and left by a lot of people I trusted. Maybe, when you’ve been hurt too many times, you try to think that the world is out to hurt you, everyone is out to hurt you. And in the end, you forget or deny the fact that you can hurt other people too. That you leave too. I leave people too. I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t lie about what I feel. I respect you, yes, but until just how far I’m obligated to…I just don’t have faith in you anymore.
Faith. Well, at least, I learned something about Faith. Leaving people, true, it IS a matter of time, even if you don’t want to. Death and separation is inevitable. But Faith, isn’t a matter of time. No one can ever say that they’ve lost faith in someone because that someone wronged them. No one can lose faith unless they want to. No one can lose faith just because of death. Faith is beyond time, beyond any circumstance, it is an unconditional trust that bonds with love of its level.
No matter how much I try to blame everyone and everything for leaving me, the fault still remains, mine. I know it sounds existentialistic, but I don’t believe people leave because they want to. People leave because you want them to. It’s a time where a part of your heart decides to close for that person. And at this point, you cry thinking that this person has left you. The fallacy instigates distrust, hatred, even. You try to forget them, avoid them. Stop apologizing, stop hoping to talk to them. Cutting them off of your life forever. And yet, you believe you’ve been left. It’s not the only way it has to be. Love transcends space and time. No matter the circumstance, everyone and anyone can find a way to keep their heart open to a person. All that is needed is the willingness to.
No one is really ever left behind in this life. No one is.
I Hope I'm Wrong
by Abba Marie Moreno
The morning is calm,
The sun is shining,
I am at peace, at ease,
My idle mind goes into thinking.
Why is it,
when my mind is blank,
I think of you?
When the day is long,
And the night is unforgiving,
You don’t even cross my mind.
But when the day is fine
And the night is inviting,
Thoughts of you come flooding inside.
Is he well today?
Is he smiling at this second?
Is he studying or playing?
Is he thinking about me too?
I doubt it.
But it feels good to believe,
That Neruda might be right.
Tell me,
Why do you intrude my thoughts?
(Or it may be the other way around.)
Maybe I still like you,
The thoughts are inviting.
But then, it could be,
That you’re just a wonderful memory—
To revisit,
Only to revisit.
