Alone.

Thirty-first October’s early morning cold breeze wakes my frail, languid body. As it damps upon my dreary skin, my body contentedly shivers in frost. I am relaxingly cooled. I am soothingly frozen. But as it continues to meander beneath and linger within my system, my whole being is shuddered. I begin to tremble in trepidation.

The state of comfort can get annoyingly discomforting. On one point it can be a blissful feeling, an idyllic moment that tranquilizes the enervated body and the perturbed soul. But sudden, unexpected shift can turn it into a moment of panic as it brings excruciating pain and distressing agony. To every inch of ‘human-ness,’ it creates unpredictable and random outcome.

As I try to open my eyes, it dawns on me that I am alone. I am alone in my small room lying half-naked on a single bed with three big pillows and with no blanket at all. The morning sun has already been rising. Its lucid glares penetrate the window panes, scuffling with the cold breeze that has already been lurking beneath my corporal system. I crave for that warmth, for that tender heat to muddle with the cold. Its motley concoction begins to bewilder my body. The warmth of the sun has saved me. But it remains undaunted, I am alone.

Isolation. Seclusion. Who wants to be alone? There are times that we have to be alone especially when we need to get a grasp of ourselves, ponder upon how our lives have fairly transpired, and re-think our conceptions and perceptions of life and living. But a saturation point comes in inevitably. It starts when we are ready to start over again. It starts when we get tired of being alone. And there, the feeling of solitude becomes fearsome, and perhaps even loathsome. Transcendence is unequivocally desired.

I am alone. Thriving across the previous days of October, I painstakingly survive with the company of my coffee-mates, thesis-mates, block-mates and some acquaintances. Immediately after the semester ends, I spent a holiday get-away with my block-mates and close friends in Bataan. When I got back to the City, the real and the extant underline its resounding presence. I got back to my real senses, to the thesis that I and my thesis-mates have to finish and to some other responsibilities that I handle. But as October ends, these people are gone and the only one left is me. Alone.

The solitary feeling is not always remunerated with the presence of close and casual friends, plain acquaintances, and even our immediate family. The solitary feeling necessitates the presence of someone, of someone to engage with deeper than ordinary friendship and filial relationship. In utmost solitude, we long for someone to be with incessantly from sunrise to sunset. We look for that someone to share requited love, eternal passion, and similar exuberance with. We look forward to have that someone whom we can call our own and spend with quality, sober time. Consciously, unconsciously, and subconsciously we, indubitably, long for that One.

The visions of sunset on that Bataan getaway reverberate on my mind as I go back to sleep. The tranquil serenity of that orange-crimson sun as it sets beneath the diversely variegated clouds and relatively calm waters perpetually pursuing the shores enthralled my solitary being. It satiated my earnest desire to be with nature, to be with the things that I like and that I miss. And with it the emotion soars freely - a yearning of having someone to be with when I get back on a similar spot, and of simply having someone who will give me warmth when the cold breeze of the morning air begins to perturb my deep, peaceful slumber once again.

Am I ready? I can sense that the person is about to come. Or am I just in a lucid reverie?

Somewhere.

"To a far-distant place of no return, to a place beyond what the human mind can grasp, and to a place where tranquility and serenity are customary and routinary..."

I am leaving for bataan - into a place i never knew of, somewhere i've never seen nor been before. The thought of an island, miles away from the congested city, seems somewhat an unruffled relief to the perplexed mind and a soothing appeasement to the exhausted body. Finally, here comes a moment where I can escape and lighten up from the whims of the despotic university. Here comes a moment where I can submerge myself into an indulgence with nature's endowment, something I have never done for a long time - to be one with nature and ruminate over the not-so distant past. And here comes a moment where I could have a sheer, simple fun with my friends totally unmindful of what is going on on the far side of the world.

But as I leave uncertainties encumber my being, usurping my sanity, of the perils that may happen.

The Irony of Forgetting.

When you want to forget something, indulge yourself with it. Contradictory as it may seem, immerse yourself until exhaustion, until the feeling becomes ordinary and conventional, until you get used to it. Then eventually you'll not forget it, but instead will be able to control it. It's a process of learning to grasp and dominate your feelings, your emotion or whatever it is that you want to forget, before it usurps you and before it consumes you within.

Funny, this is how I'd be able to free myself from the prison that my love for you has brought me into .

Empty Inbox.

Browsin' on any empty inbox,
could not discern what happened last night.
Still, way beyond real senses,
unable to get back from a prolonged oblivion.

Was emptying the inbox decisive
or should have been done long ago?

It's no use keeping it half-full,
when it's never filled.
And perhaps it will never be,
since it never was mine.