rain splatters differently on the window when the car is moving.
we're endlessly moving forward.
the world keeps on turning.
yes, some are left behind.
maybe the wind was too strong.
maybe they were held back.
maybe they're not in a car.
not in a moving vehicle.
they're probably on their feet, walking.
their toes clinging to their slippers.
squeaky noises as skin meets rubber.
an umbrella flipping upside down.
or maybe they don't have one.
some are probably carrying something heavy:
goods they're selling,
their worn-out school bag,
or their slumped shoulders.
maybe they're running,
catching their breath as they fight against the wind,
while the rain hits their face, blurring their vision,
as their feet try not to slip on uneven asphalt.

i look down at mine.
clad in faux leather, dry and warm.
it does hurt.
but i know others hurt more.
so how dare i stand still?

when every challenge i face, one i've never seen before,
can be pushed aside with the lithe strength of my fingers,
i think of others who've carried that same weight
on their shoulders their whole lives.
how can i ever stop holding on?

as i look out the very same window,
between slanted raindrops,
a faint reflection of me stares back.
and in the purple glare of my glasses,
the ones i paid extra for,
i couldn't tell where my reflection ended and the rain began.

drafted on the ride home from internship…

— 🪷

limitado lang naman ang mga bagay na pwede nating hawakan.
iilan lang naman ang nasa kontrol natin.
hindi naman natin pwedeng lagyan ng gapos ang mga binti ng oras
upang pigilin ang pagtakbo nito.
hindi naman natin pwedeng lagyan ng angkla ang barko ng panahon
para lamang hindi ito lumipas.
hindi naman pwedeng pigilan ang tao sa paglundag
para lamang maabot nila ang buhay na gusto nila para sa kanila.
hindi naman pwedeng buong buhay na hawakan ang kamay ng kapalaran.
hindi naman pwedeng buong araw na suot ang salaming nakatanaw sa nakaraan, maging sa hinaharap.
hindi naman dapat habang-buhay pasanin ang bigat.
may mga bagay lang talaga na hindi natin kayang buhatin at saluhin,
dahil wala namang manibelang maaaring pihitin.
o pwedeng maniobrahin.

at sana, kapag nagtagpo na ang mga mata ninyo ni kamatayan,
kapag kumaway na sa iyo ang dulo ng hangganan,
salubungin sana ito ng tango, taas ng kilay, at ngiti.

— 🪷

p.s. this was vomited dahil hindi ako pinatulog ng coughing fit na 'yan (annual event btw)

ilang bahay na rin ang nahintuan ko.
pinatuloy ako nang ilang taon,
kinupkop, pero hindi naging tahanan.

mayroong pinatapak lang ako sa bukas ng pintuan,
ipinasilip lang kung anong nasa loob,
pero hindi tuluyang pinagbuksan,
hindi inimbitahan.

tumira ako sa isa nang ilang taon.
hindi naman maliit ang bahay na iyon,
pero malay ko ba,
hindi ako makahinga.
siguro nga kasi’y pinagkaitan akong sumilip sa labas.

nagtagal naman ako sa panghuling bahay,
pero wala akong sariling kwarto doon.
natutunan ko na ring pantayan ang taas ng pader nito.

pero sa tuwing nanunuluyan ako,
meron akong laging sinisigurado:
ang magtira ng kahit isang damit o bagay sa maleta.

para kapag umalis—
kahit hindi handa,
kahit biglaan—
kapag ang isang kamay ay hawak ang maleta,
isa sa seradura,

alam kong may dala pa rin akong kahit katiting na “ako”

na hindi nila nakita,
hindi nakilala,
hindi nagalaw.

bagay o damit na kapag suot ko,
hindi ko sila maaalala.
wala silang iniwang marka o memorya.

at kapag sinuot ko na ulit ang sapatos
na iniwan ko sa labas bago pumasok sa bahay nila,
ramdam man ang bigat sa bawat paghakbang palayo,
hindi ’yon dahil sa aking sapin sa paa
na kailanman ay hindi tumapak sa loob,
na hindi naramdaman ang lamig ng sahig,
hindi nakilala ang lambot ng balat,
at hindi naranasang maglahad.

naghintay lamang ito sa labas
dahil alam nito na dalawa lang ang kanyang maaaring kahinatnan:
ang hindi na muling magamit,
o ang muli siyang isuot.

pero lagi naman siyang handa.
alam niya na siguro na nakasanayan ko nang umalis
hanggang sa makahanap muli ng bahay na matutuluyan,
iiwan ang sapatos sa labas,
at muling hindi ilalabas lahat ng damit sa maleta.

nito lang, pudpod na ang swelas ng sapatos ko,
halos wala na ring naiwan na laman sa maleta.
kailangan ko na siguro bumili ng mga bagong damit.

— 🪷

i don’t think i have ever known who i truly am
i never met me, really
maybe because i have no recollection of a time when i felt a complete sense of comfort
of ease
of relief
there was always that twinge of pain in my chest
maybe it’s so little that it’s barely there
or it’s just that i’ve gotten used to it being there
still, it never really left me
it lingers
like everything that i’ve ever gone through in life
i think i have never let go of anything
i don’t put things away completely
i did not learn how to put things down
i hold things over my head
i never forget
i am an accumulation of fragments of my past
thought i’d eventually get used to it
carrying it for twenty years should numb me out
but i’m bound to break
it’s meant to spill over
i cannot hold it in my hand forever
and that’s okay
i’m just wondering
in that moment
when i have nothing left
when a puddle of sorrows and fears is on the floor
when i am nothing but a shell of everything that i have gone through
who exactly am i looking at in the mirror
would that person be my real self
would it be me
who am i really without this heaviness in my chest
i am no one without the slight buckle of knees when crossing the road
i am no one without teary eyes when watching someone cry
i am no one without my father’s anger and my mother’s heavy sigh
i am no one without discomfort
without uneasiness
so, when people say that we should find ourselves again
where do i run to
what should i do
how can i ever look for it when i never knew who i really am

— 🪷