Every affair starts with a dare.
And, sometimes, a cold lie.
A warm kiss that gives birth
To a memory,
A moonless night
And a harmless guile.

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Beneath Ortigas Station of MRT

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Riding a motorcycle is like kissing.
You ride from one place to another,
But it is never about reaching the destination.

It is always about the Ride,
That spiritual communion between you and the spirit of the road.

Likewise,
It's not the physical act of kissing ,..
It's the metaphysical part of it ,..
If you kiss somebody ,.
It's like you're inhaling their

Soul.

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Beneath Shaw MRT Station

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Stranger --

I cannot believe the look of accusations in your eyes.

Your penny may roll about and reach me,
Quench my sorrow,
And feed me for the night.

And maybe it might bring
Your distant soul to heaven,
And you, the praise of angels in the sky,

But still,
I cannot believe
The look of accusations in your eyes.

Save me a fisherman's dream
Wrapped in a peaceful night
And shiny seas.

Where the embers of the city
Fades to a purplish hue
And the waves -- calm

Like this night.

Tonight.

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Manila Bay Breakwater, 11/15/09

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street urchins and beggars,
the skyline
cradled by the moon and the sea.

beside gavroche sleeping peacefully
I close my eyes and smell the air.

oil and sea spray.

after all, this is manila.

the thieves and fishermen tell tales
and past stories.

I listened.

somewhere, buried in the noise,
the sound of the hissing air
caught my ears.

and somewhere, where the sea
reflects gold and rainbow --

I am lost in a maze of colors.

breathtaking.

...

come with me.
the world cannot find us here.

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The Manila Bay Breakwater - 11/14/09
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Some dusk are meant for sorrows.

Are we then meant to run?

Can a decade of atonements

Untaint a golden sun?

Once upon a sunset, I fell in love with you.

Once upon a daydream, I heard you say "me too".

Once upon a phantom song, you said you'd bind yourself to me.

Then the daydream ended with me hanging on a tree.

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Taken at Liloan, Cebu.

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Taken at Cubao, Quezon City.

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The rise and retreat of the sun and airports are two different things preaching the same gospel: that of leaving and that of arriving. And somehow, they are intertwined.

Imagine this: In a hospital somewhere, an old man is dying, his life draining as he struggles to hold on to his dear memories. Of love? I do not know. But it is said that at the moment of death, the memories of your love are the ones that will struggle most to survive and will fight to be remembered, until your very last breath.

Now imagine that somewhere in the maternity room, a woman is giving birth. A child is being brought into this universe.

How hard is it to believe that in that time in between the old man's soul departing and a new child's soul arriving, that they somehow met in soul-space and had coffee, a little conversation and perhaps, the departing soul giving an advice or two.

How hard is it to believe that somehow, we are all connected like a circle, where all souls departing imparts a part of themselves to all those new souls arriving.

Maybe that kid she was holding had coffee with your lolo before he was born and moments after he died.

Strange, strange thoughts.

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Taken at the Mactan International Airport, Mactan, Cebu.

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Taken beneath the Shaw Boulevard Station of MRT.

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