i crawled. i thought i could. i watched the clouds pass by
with the sky floating serenely behind them. the sun bore
down and even the sunnies couldn't protect the wave of
dizziness that settled. superficiality ensconced my entire
green looked away and jumpstarted the car. the black
leather embraced the backs. in the midst of roaring wind
and people chattering he asked, "do i have to believe
you're eighteen?" she laughed. and the child called
out, "i'm eight and a half!"
"maybe we should get more bait," green mused. "it might not
"there are eight rods for thirty people!" i exclaimed.
"we're not going fishing," brown whined.
"don't get him a fishing rod! it's not practical. how are
you going to bring it back? you can't completely
disassemble a fishing rod. you might just leave it in our
apartment and add to the nitty gritty that we have to take
with us when we move house," i lectured.
"but your brother wants one, and we might be able to go
fishing in roxas boulevard," mom replied.
the man tied the line to the pole. "all set out. you can go
fishing now. you sure you want to take this bag? if you
want to put the pole inside the bag, you have to take out
the line and the rail and do everything all over again.
it's going to be troublesome."
"okay we don't need the bag," mom said. she turned to
me. "we'll just leave it in your apartment."
"fishing is boring," she said. "you just wait there and do
"we spend most of our lives waiting," he said.
the feet led the colors to the residence of commodities.
they called out. reached out. i will grant you happiness
and beauty if you take me. take me. dammit. take me. and
leave me not.
the horn honked. and the journey was about to end. i woke
with a sore neck and an empty heart. i thought of kok.
chadao. maybe they can lift me from this state.
the night descended. the warmth evanescent. coolness
settled. and poetry raged. "think about it. think about
it," she said.
"she's lesbian and she has three sons," i said.
"you're making me remember my father," lavender said.
the beauty of sadness. the beauty of words.
"he just knows how to write. the technique. in poetry, you
have to appeal to the five senses. you have to be able to
see the thing, feel it, smell it, hear it, taste it," i
said, trying to sound intelligent.
"you put the avocado and the egg on top of the rice, then
you roll it," white said, trying to sound intelligent.
"too bad we didn't catch any fish," pink said in that loud
voice. "i want fish for dinner!"
the tv came on. and we watched ourselves. the drama. the
song. the scream that made me burst out laughing. what
terrible acting. what terrible terrible terrible acting.
"is it because of the shopping?" she asked.
if i was with my friends back home, they wouldn't go
shopping. they wouldn't complain. they would go fishing.
they wouldn't care even if their clothes get wet.
the day closed. it was warm, cold, superficial, serene,
incomplete, but i was happy