My Silent Affair

I let us lie side by side. I didn’t know him. We were complete strangers before tonight. One could say I did know him, very well, but I just never saw his form with my mind until tonight. We are left in this dark room. I lie rigid at first. His right leg stretched over mine, his hand searching my waist, moving across my belly. Then slowly, softly he sings,

Hold me closer tiny dancer.

Count the headlights on the highway.

Lay me down in sheets of linen.

You had a busy day today.

I touch his hand and kiss his cheek. We lay there, knowing, understanding each other, without movement, without sound.

“Why?” I ask myself. Why do I let him take form?

Eventually, I stop questioning, knowing there would be no answer, at least not yet. I feel my nerves relaxing. I close my eyes. He wouldn’t hurt me; that I’m certain. He was my partner, my other half. His hand, trembling at first, is not threatening, and now it finds repose on my skin. He gave a soft sigh. I could feel his heartbeat calm down.

There are no words and no actions, and there is no sleep though I feel tired. Still I am revived. I am rested. So is he.

Morning comes. The door is still locked, and still there is no sound, no movement. Mercury is rising. The room is still dark though: there are no windows except for a small vent for air. He sweats. I open my eyes. He is looking at me. He says “Good morning,” and smiles the most beautiful smile. He moves a few inches away, giving me space to move and breathe. He hums a beautiful melody.

Afternoon comes. We embrace. He puts his head on my breasts. We finally succumb to slumber. I am his beloved pillow, and he is in turn my beloved doll. I am his ballerina; he is my pianist. He is my Omelas, and I must walk away.

The door opens. He is taken away. He looks at me one last time and smiles. I stay behind. We never see each other again. We didn’t even get the chance to know each other’s name. All I know is that we were one in silence, in that momentary embrace that made us feel unhampered. We were secure; we were intimate – almost dependent on each other. In that moment I was vulnerable, but it was alright, he would not hurt me.

Yes, I walked away because he is a dream, and forever will be a dream. He is not real. I made him up. If I sustain him, breathe life into his mouth, and love him, as I know I tend to, I would die of dreaming. I would have been content, we were perfect, but I know my soul would suffer from misuse. I would have been pouring my love to myself, not to my better half – not even to a real person. Then I would suffocate myself in the room I created. I would have been a coward, afraid of the disappointments, of the heartaches, of the complications. I would have been a fool dreaming her life away.

Yes, he is my lover. He is the specter who visits me at night. Then my mind pushes him away. My mind removes him from that little room in my imagination, because he is not good for me. I can’t be dependent on him. It pushes him away into these words where he could take form but could not harm me. He is my perfect lover, and so he must not win over me, for he would haunt my every relationship. He is my paradise; but the price would always be too much, even more important than utopia – life.

Works cited:

Elton John. Honky Chateau. Island, 1996.

Simon by Lifehouse

Catch your breath,
Hit the wall,
Scream out loud,
As you start to crawl
Back in your cage
The only place
Where they will
Leave you alone.
'Cause the weak will
Seek the weaker til they've broken them.
Could you get it back again?
Would it be the same?
Fulfillment to their lack of strength at your expense,
Left you with no defense;
They tore it down.

(Chorus):
And I have felt the same as you,
I've felt the same as you,
I've felt the same.

Locked inside
The only place
Where you feel sheltered,
Where you feel safe.
You lost yourself
In your search to find
Something else to hide behind.

The fearful always preyed upon your confidence.
Did they see the consequence,
when they pushed you around?
The arrogant build kingdoms made of the different ones,
Breaking them 'til they've become just another crown.

(Chorus)

Refuse to feel anything at all,
Refuse to slip,
Refuse to fall.
Can't be weak,
Can't stand still,
You watch your back 'cause no one will.
You don't know why they had to go this far,
Traded your worth for these scars,
For your only company.
And don't believe the lies
That they have told to you. Not one word was true
you're alright, you're alright, you're alright.

Fear by Sarah Mclachlan

Morning smiles
Like the face of a newborn child
Innocent unknowing
Winter’s end
Promises of a long lost friend
Speaks to me of comfort

But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
Here in this lonely place
Tangled up in our embrace
There’s nothing I’d like
Better than to fall
But I fear I have nothing to give

Wind in time
Rapes the flower trembling on the vine
Nothing yields to shelter it
From above
They say temptation will destroy our love
The never ending hunger

But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
Here in this lonely place
Tangled up in our embrace
There’s nothing I’d like
Better than to fall
But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
I have nothing to give
We have so much to lose...

Wash Away by vertical horizon

An old man lying by the road
Black as night
He's got his finger on the trigger
An easy target in sight
He's got no future, no family tree
He's got a three dollar bottle
And he drinks 'til he can't see
All night, all night...

A young girl waiting on a line
Eight a.m., she's got a six month old burden
Willpower's withering thin
An unwed mother beaten by her trade
Each week her welfare reminds her
Of mistakes she never made
Oh no...

Now what has that to say about tomorrow
What has that to show for today
Noah thought to build an ark
Before the heavens washed it all away
Away...

A baby crying through a dream
An afterthought
Mother is seething for pleasure
After the poison is bought
His eyes are tainted, staggered is his breath
Oh God, he's addicted
Addicted to death
Oh,no...

Tiny Dancer by elton john

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band

Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad

Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums

But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can't hear me
When I say softly, slowly

Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

ripples

In the chaos of my mind, I oftentimes find myself swimming across memories, both good and bad. I go into a dream-like state where I sometimes drown, and struggle to rise above the water of my own ideas.

The spiral of thoughts is like a whirlwind of memories sucking me in, and though I am powerless, I try to resist with so much effort that I strain myself. Thus in so many ways, I am resisting growth. As a tree grows its branches, it must undergo change inside and out – it must accept the rains, the winds, and the scorching heat of the sun, as well as the nourishment of the soil from beneath. It must undergo both pain and pleasure before it can grow. Thus there must be complete surrender to this spiral that embodies both inward and outward motion. Such is the nature of our memories. We must enter into a trance, succumb to the emotions in order to fuel motion, understanding, and self-knowledge, and finally to advance outwards. It is in fact in the unique patterns of our brains that we find ourselves in the rawest form – these patterns represented by the apparent chaos of our thoughts. In the disorder, we then find beauty, for in the upward and downward motion of a spiral, there is duality, there is yin and yang, there is balance. Only in the acceptance of this balance can we allow ourselves to be weak, trusting that in the imbalance, an avenue for discovering a new way to be sturdy will open up.

Thus is the cosmos of our memories – the unity of the conscious and the subconscious, a tapping of the still water which causes beautiful ripples, the unity of the earth and sky, the reflection of the past and the future in the present, time merged in a single moment.

Such was what my mind has feared of undergoing, the ultimate surrender, for in the powerlessness I feared to lose my sanity. I feared of falling, the pain is too much, and so I distracted myself of images, sounds, and movements, almost all from the outside. Thus my soul was stagnant where I stood. I wanted to forget the shame. I evaded the memories, hoping for oblivion to cover me, protect me from the pain. Every time I entered into a trance, I struggled to break free. I was afraid of confronting my demons. However the phantoms of my past, not so far away, kept haunting me, though I tried to suppress them. They kept on resurfacing, disturbing my calm waters. I didn’t welcome vulnerability, yet weaker I became.

In the end I had no peace, nothing could hide me from myself. Resolution: I jumped headfirst into the chaos I so long feared. I submitted to the whirls of memories that has impressed upon me an emotion so strong that it has to have form to be understood.

Surrender. And then Freedom.

My Fantasy World

Tangle Walker

The picture is that of a fairy-like creature covered with green vines, entangled all over her.

I tend to make things complicated. I aggravate simple things. I worry too much. However, in the end I find myself walking forward despite the tangles in my life. I work my way out of the tangles I myself made the best that I can.

I was good. I knew my path. I could untangle my knots.

I was beautiful.

Pardic Lancer

“He gets to the point right away.”

The picture is that of warriors, pardic lancers, charged for action on a battlefield. Smoke pervades the air, however they valiantly go forth. Now I find myself facing a lot of problems and I try to charge to the very heart of my sorrows, I put my best armor on and try to be as courageous as possible. My strategy is to kill, fight and win over my battles, leaving my emotions behind: I am now a barbarian seeking victory rather than reason. I dismiss pain – leave it behind. They are uncalled for in war. I should be ruthless.

In the battlefield, I get hurt. I cry. I lose my sight of everything beautiful and peaceful. I’m a mess, an invalid, with nothing but pain to go back to.

Wall of Vapor

“My walls are made out of magic alone, stronger than any that ever stood.”

The picture is that of sorcerer in the middle of a dark mist, blocking, and probably blinding travelers who pass by.

I see myself fearing fear even more. I stand in the middle of the mist, putting my defenses very high, afraid of pain. I see myself evading difficulties.

Perhaps I might become a coward.

Perhaps I would build a mystery around me and protect myself with deceit.

I would fear. I would have nothing to give; nothing to gain but pain.

But I have ran from pain once before. I would be alone.

I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be a coward.

I want to love, and be hurt and hurt and feel everything I thought was ugly. I want to feel every pang. I want to risk myself. I want to be free. I want to live and be beautiful once more.

anagrams

Paid.

Lave or Daze a Flame.

I killed.

They pushed me,

Bribed me.

I hate myself.

I killed.

They controlled me,

Restrained me.

I’m sorry.

I killed my heart.

What they offered

I could not refuse.

I would not.

Fad Idea,

Alarm Eva!

Lies, out to take her life away.

Bungles.

Keep her safe.

No! Free her.

Deceit.

Uncover her eyes.

The two anagrams for my name is quite contrasting because the first one succumbs to the material things, sacrificing passion and love in the process. However, the other one, which is quite feministic, seeks justice. Perhaps it shows the battles I have with myself. At this point in my life, I encounter so many crossroads that I feel torn. Nothing is black and white. Thus I find no solace when I open my eyes. All I see is chaos. Sometimes I just close them in an attempt to leave my life to fate. I try to look for the easy way out, oftentimes sacrificing the beauty of the unknown. I bathe myself from all the passion of uncertainty in exchange of the certain. However, in my heart, I know I must fall in that colorful abyss in order to appreciate the meaning of my existence. I am not a puppet. I am the woman of my life. I love myself. I wake myself up, I won’t fool myself.

My Phantom

Ever since I was a child, I have always been afraid of clowns. There is just something about them that gives me the creeps and makes my stomach whirl. Even McDonald scares me; after all he has that big, red lips smiling weirdly at everyone.

I remember when we were still living in San Andres Bukid, my uncle had left us this wooden clown coin bank. It was a miniature of a fat clown, less than a foot tall, with yellow carnival attire adorned with a colorful lace. He wore a brownish hat, and had bright red lips and nose, and big bright eyes. I would always keep it behind the big stuffed toys in our glass closet so that it would remain out of view; I didn’t want to see it; I was scared of it. Its eyes looked at me with suspicion, as if I had done something wrong. Its mischievous smile was like that of the devil. His whiteness was the paleness of ghosts. He was laughing at me, a joker out to haunt my dreams! Indeed I felt him. I knew it was there behind the teddy bears although unseen, waiting for a chance to perform his tricks on me. His eyes were looking at me constantly, judging my every move. I was afraid that it would suddenly come to life and hurt me, punish me for all of my mischief.

One summer, my cousin who was staying with us decided to play a prank on me. He knew I was afraid of clowns and so while I was in my sister’s room, he put the wooden clown outside of the door. Alas, I was trapped and my demon was out to torture me. His eyes, so round, was full of triumph. I was so afraid that I locked myself up in the room. I screamed and screamed, I felt ambushed.

I couldn’t remember exactly what happened afterwards but I do remember how I screamed my lungs out and how dry my throat was. I was going to die. It was getting dark. I was exhausted. I was alone in that small room, pleading for my life. Nobody came – perhaps because we were children who play and scream a lot in a world only we could understand. I was alone, completely devoid of any savior.

Another time my family and I were in Tondo with my relatives. It was fiesta and there were a lot of people in the narrow streets. There were food and games. There were clowns!

I stayed inside the house, away from all the festivities, away from the hideous smiles on everyone’s faces. I say hideous because to me I was in a nightmare full of phantoms, which ironically everybody seemed to love. Only I can see through their disguises! Clowns deceive; I hate them.

I looked down on their merriment through the bars of the window on the second floor. Right below me, there was a clown, with hair made out of yarn and a face painted with white and red. There were children all over him as he was about to perform a trick. He put a piece of thread and several blades into his mouth. Yes, the blades used for shaving! He swallowed them with ease. I was devastated, but my curiosity got the best out of me. And besides, I knew I was safe, inside the house, separated from everyone else by the bars of the window. I continued watching how he pulled the thread out of his mouth with the blades hanging on it. I recall how he glanced my way after that, and I could swear he looked right at me, giving an inviting look.

Of course, I never went down.

WHO IS TYLER DURDEN? The Confessions of an Addict

In the movie Fight Club, almost half of the film shows the main character, Jack hiding in the shadow of Tyler Durden, the alpha male of all fight clubs. It shows the transformation of the narrator’s life, showing how he changed as Tyler guided him into letting go of fear, pain and loss. Tyler was his liberator. At the end of the film however it was revealed that Tyler was none other but his alter ego. It was he who had done all the things Tyler did. Indeed, he was just a pigment of the narrator’s imagination…or was he?

Certainly he was as real as the narrator made us believe. He might not be as substantial as true flesh, but in spirit he was alive. He was as real as the narrator was; in fact he was a significant part of him. It is so because it was inevitable for him to express what the conscious mind avoided to acknowledge, and Tyler was the product of this suppression.

Jack hated his life, his job, the world and his empty house. He hated consumerism because he was a slave to it. He could not break free from these things. He was alone. He couldn’t sleep; he had no peace. He doesn’t know how to fill up his empty life. And so, he resorted to addiction: first was his addiction to buying furniture in order to fill up the space around him, then his addiction to therapy, and lastly his addiction to fighting.

But his emotions could not be suppressed – those which he hated surrounded him everyday. Thus his alter ego had to move for him: Tyler took form. He acted the way the narrator could not. He was stronger, smarter, and more handsome. Tyler overcame the true self, doing things the other wanted but could not do. Tyler was the center; Jack – a mere shadow following around his own creation.

Interestingly, I understood the Jack. I’ve watched this in Oprah so many times. They feature different kinds of people with different kinds of addiction: drug, shoplifting, sex, gambling and even plastic surgery addiction. Then guest psychologists and experts would announce that these people resorted to these not primarily for the adrenaline rush, but as a way of evading the bigger issues in their lives. Eventually, these people ended up leading double lives and going through great depression.

Young as I am, I know depression very well. I could not remember when it started exactly, but I know that somewhere in my life I learned to hate myself so much I wanted everybody else to like me – if not love me – in order to replace the love I can not give myself. Why? Perhaps because of my insecurities, or may be because I knew I wasn’t a movie star, a model or a superhero just like I wanted to be. I felt weak and became a shadow of my dreams.

What was amusing though was that in my heart I knew I was lying. I did love myself, I just didn’t know how to express it. What I did know however was that I wanted everyone’s approval. I had to be good and agreeable at least if I were not going to be a princess in a fairy tale. Perhaps in gaining people’s smiles I would feel good about myself. However each smile wasn’t enough; they were meaningless because I knew they smiled out of respect. I couldn’t blame them – I had no substance to offer because I was empty just like Jack. And so I started my addiction: I buried myself in motion.

I attended every activity there was to attend. I busied myself. I couldn’t stop moving. Constantly I flew from branch to branch, seeking shelter where I knew I would find only temporary lodging. I thought that perhaps in my flight I would find myself or at least someone who’d accompany me in my journey.

Eventually I got tired of it all. Then in one of the branches I landed on, I met someone: a mentor in every sense of the word: He lived his life in extremes, spoke with wisdom, moved with precision, loved generously; and everything he knew he would tell everyone willing to listen and learn. One day he saw me sitting alone, away from the disorder of everyone else. He praised me and said, “In stillness there is stability.”

Never had my defenses been so overtaken. I felt like he mocked me. I was still because I was planning on my next move, not because I was stable. He saw through my pretenses. I was a fraud. He broke down the wall I put up around me. At that moment I realized that I wasn’t flying; I was fleeing. I was afraid of accepting my faults and so I couldn’t fill myself up with strengths. I wanted other people to shower me with merits and praises so that I would feel better about myself that I forgot that the air could not carry me if my wings were not free to move. Indeed I was carrying a burden too heavy: my insecurities. It was myself after all I was running from, and I could not find peace because there was no place to hide. The only way I could have a home is when I establish my feet on the ground first.

I dug deep. It was hard. I would have to dig up everything I buried and plant my roots among the sorrows that make my lands rich. Eventually I learned to accept myself. I looked in the mirror smiling, thinking to myself how wonderful my world could be, if only I would cultivate it properly. I held my pains and used them to make myself better. What I once despised in myself now serve as the waters in my rivers, the waters that make my leaves green.

WORKS CITED:

Fight Club. DVD. Dir. David Fincher. Perf. Brad Pitt, Edward Norton. Art Linson Productions, 1999.