you are my muse... i cannot deny it even if i try to.  there's a lot of things that i have to write that i cannot write without thinking about you.  you make me write.  i don't know why.  does this mean that i am falling all over again?  i don't want to think so.  all those years of grief that i have gone over would only come back.  i'm tired of the pain, the longing for being with you.  that's why i don't want to think that i'm falling for you once more.

it's just that lately everything that's happening to me leads back to you.  and i just have to keep writing everything else that comes to mind so that i could forget you.  to learn unlearning everything that i had with you.  to prevent myself for missing everything about you.   i guess that's what makes you my muse.  you make me write.  for i only write when i am boggled, restless and fixated about what i feel.  the strong feeling that only fuels a series of "what ifs".  my mind gets creative... what if i meet you again?  what  if we talk again?  the answers play in my mind. all the thoughts, possible and impossible alike, are played over and over until my brain screams for an outlet. 

you know me, this is the only outlet i know that isn't as messy as splashing paint all over my wall.  or as risky as walking in the middle of the night going nowhere.  i should just have written you a letter.  but i do not have the courage, for fear of rejection.  for fear of the unknown, because i do not know you anymore.  it's been years.  i have changed a bit, and i think you did too.  there's a lot  about me that you  don't know anymore, so i only expect the same thing with you.  it's just that i do not really know if you are as willing as i am to let you know me again.  to start from scratch, as if we've never met in this lifetime.

we have friends, and they tell me how well you are right now.  i hope you really are.  for if they tell you that i am well, let it be known that i'm really not.  but i'm hoping that you hope that i really am.  when they tell me you are free.  i'd like to know if you are happy with it.  because i'll be happy for you too. i don't want to know that you are miserable because i'd like to be with you in your misery.  to help you get up.  to help you grow.  to help you be happy.  then i'd be happy too.

i do not know what i am saying.  there's a lot in me that i wanna say.  i'm just running out of words.  the truth is, i want to see you again, to say to you in person whatever it is that's bothering me.  i want to keep blabbering until i get tired.  i want to see how you would react.  and maybe by then, i'd be at peace, knowing the real answer to my "what ifs".

sometimes i wish our roads have never crossed once more last year.  because after that, my mind had been a mess. just when i thought i've once again regained my clearheadedness, i am once agin scatterbrained...  find myself floating, lost in that space in my mind and heart that you have left vacant.  i thought that i could once again feel for someone, i find myself wishing it'd be you who'd come and fill that space - the void you left in me.  i have so much gotten used to living with that void in me that i haven't realized it until i met you again - last year.  now i wish i could have said something like this at that time so that i won't feel this way.  i hate this.  i have a lot of other things to deal with, but you always find your way among them.  you always take a big chunk of whatever i have to do.  you make me weak and strong at the same time.  you make me blind and seeing at the same time.  you make me numb and feeling at the same time.  i am a combination of all that's opposite.

you are my muse... you make me write - this and everything that's left unsaid.  i'll keep writing, but my hands are already tired from typing. i just wish that you'd go away... and stay...

bakit ba hindi ako nagsasawa
sa aking pangangamusta?
gayong paulit-ulit mo naman
akong tinatabla?

tanggap ko naman ang lahat
at ngayon, ako ma'y malaya na
pero bakit di mapigil ang sarili
at inaalala ka palagi?

sana natuturuan ang alaala
na huwag kang alalahanin
sana natuturuan ang isip
na huwag kang isipin.

pero ano ang magagawa?
heto ako't naghihimutok,
alam namang walang mapapala
pero heto't nakatunganga...

nag-iisip ng paraan
kung paano kitang kakausapin
nag-iisip ng daan
kung sa'n ka hahagilapin.

hindi ako natatahimik.
pero mabuti na rin siguro'ng ganito
ang tanong ko lang ay bakit?
ngayon ako'y tuliro.

Gandang-ganda ako kay KC Concepcion.  Napaka-refreshing ng face nya, lalo pa't ang personalidad nya ay iba ang dating.  Kaya tulad ng ibang fans nya, ninanais kong ihalintulad ang sarili sa kanya, kahit man lang sa pananamit at pananaw...dahil nga naman, sa tulad kong hindi nabiyayaan ng kagandahang pang-artista at buhay-mayaman, tama na ang tanawin ang mga gaya ni KC at gayahin ang magandang katangiang maaring mapulot sa kanila.

Noong nakaraang linggo, nag-bonding kaming mag-utol sa salon.  Mahaba na raw ang buhok nya, kaya kelangan nang magpagupit, bawal daw kasi sa trabaho niya na mahaba ang buhok ng lalaki.  Ako naman, nagpapahaba ng buhok, pero dahil nga balik-trabaho na ako, mahirap mag-mentena lalo na sa umaga kung nagmamadaling pumasok.  Bukod pa rito, naaalibadbaran na ako sa maalon na korte at buhaghag na buhok ko sa bandang likod.  kaya, sumabay na ako kay utol sa salon.

Magkaiba kami ng hairstylist, pero sabay kaming shinampoohan bago gupitan.  Matapos na banlawan ang buhok ko at balutan ng tuwalya sa ulo, deretso na ako sa baklang hairstylist, na mabait namang nakitungo sa akin.  Tinanong nya ako kung anong style ang gusto ko.  Sinabi ko, yung kay KC (dahil naghinayang ako sa buhok kong matagal kong pinahaba) - mahabang layered, pero less istorbo sa mukha.  Taas-kilay si bakla, at sinabi pang may bangs daw yung kay KC.  Sabi ko, ok lang, para naman maiba.  Naisip ko noon din na siopao pala ang mukha ko sa lapad, at pag may bangs, eh mukha na akong siopao na  may buhok! 

Nasa ganon akong pag-iisip at sasabihin ko na sanang wag na lagyan ng bangs, ng biglang sa dalawang istrok lang ng gunting, nagkaron ng bangs ang akong noo!! Ang ginawa ni bakla, ginupitan ang basa kong buhok ng hanggang sa may ibabang kilay. 

Cute naman pala...mukha akong grade one na siopao na may buhok... yun ay nung basa pa ang buhok ko.  Umalis na si bakla at pinalitan siya ni ateng taga-blower ng buhok.  At nang matuyo na, binalikan ako ni bakla.  Laking gulat nya nang kalahati na lang ng noo ko ang natatakpang ng ginupit nyang bangs kanina, sabay sabi, "Ay ate, buhaghag pala ang hair mo".  Hay naku, kahit anong gawin nyang remedyo, bitin na ang bangs ko. Paglabas ko sa lugar-gupitan, nakita ako ng kapatid kong nauna nang natapos at naghihintay na lang sa akin.  Sandali syang natigilan at manapa'y humalakhak sabay turo sa bago kong hairdo.  Napahiya ako ng kaunti dahil nagtinginan lahat ng customer ng salon.  At kasunod ko pa sa likod ko si baklang tingin ko'y nagsisisi at ginupit ang aking bangs.

At magpahanggang ngayon ay pinuproblema ko sa bawat umaga kung ano ang gagawin dito sa lintek na bangs ko.  Nariyan na ang i-clip, o i-payneta, punyeta!  Hindi ko naman masisisi yung stylist dahil ito nga naman ang gupit ni KC.

At napag-isip-isip ko rin, na sa susunod, wag na akong umambisyong maging kamukha ni Angelina Jolie o ni KC Concepcion.  Magdedesisyon na ako ng naayon sa tunay kong anyo...

At maging malinaw ako sa pagbibigay ng instructions sa mga stylist, para gumanda ang resulta.  Tao lang sila - kaya nilang gumawa ng ikagaganda, pero hindi milagro.

Pagod na ako
 sa kakaisip kung ano ang
 tumatakbo sa isip mo.

Pagod na ako
 sa kakahabol sa iyong
 patuloy na pagtakbo papalayo.

Pagod na ako
 sa mga pangungusap mong
 daig pa ang 'rosetta stone'.

Pagod na ako
 sa pag-aalala kung
 ikaw ba ay masaya.

Pagod na ako
 sa paghahanap ng paraan upang
 masigurong masaya ka nga.

Pagod na ako
 sa pagpapanggap na ako man
 ay masigla at matapang.

Pagod na ako
 sa kakagawa ng paraan upang
 ako ay iyong maintindihan.

Pagod na ako
 sa lahat ng ito . . .
 at iba pa.

Pagod na ako
 ikaw?
 Sana.

There was a bombing incident at Glorietta 2, Makti last Friday.  Just this morning, there was a fire in Glorietta 4.  Whether these incidents are connected or not, I remember the hurt people - many innocent lives who had to be sacrificed just because of a selfish few.  And I remember Golden Monzon, a friend way back in college.

Golden was a victim of a ridiculous act - a grenade was thrown at his group while they were on their way home. One of them died, while Golden had to let go of an eye and his two legs.  That was a frustrating event for me because I saw how active Golden was.  He was an all-around athlete; a brilliant student; and a funny guy.  He was also good-looking.  Humility was not one of his best traits but I guess that's why I got stuck with his friendship - he was not a hypocrite. He was proud. We did a lot of smart and silly things together - even for just two semesters.

I have no idea anymore as to where he is, or how he is doing right now.  Maybe it is best for me not to look for him anymore.  I may just be another reminder of his past that he needs to forget.  A meeting with him might just open up those wounds that can never be healed, or rekindle the neverending "what if" question.  I decided long before that the last meeting I had with him at the hospital would end our connection.  I can never look at him in the eye.  It might just pain us both.

So, I'd just write here a poem I made for him (sometime in 1998-99)....

GOLDEN

Lightning flashed
the sky lit up
and the clouds began
to collide into each other.

The earth rumbled,
and the broad daylight
suddenly dimmed, putting off
the sun's strong rays.

Like a fire being
mellowed by water
the scorching heat of the earth
began to embrace everything - everyone.

The rain started to fall,
slowly at first, droplet by droplet
until they accumulated on the ground
and flooded all the floors.

The spattering of raindrops
went on unminded by
the strollers enjoying the rain -
the storm.

Then it destroyed homes,
families, and even lives.
It continued until the clouds
breathed their sighs.

The flood went knee-deep,
hurting your lower body parts.
The gushing wind
brought splinters to your eye.

But it's just a storm, you say.
As the rain and wind surrendered
from the moment of truth -
A Golden light peeps
through the dark clouds
in the sky.

******

That was a badly written poem, but that's how my emotions flowed through pen and paper when I thought of Golden.