Outdoorsy

When the breeze of newfound love fills the air, the heart seems to leap ceaselessly. Life appears to be much colorful, more bearable. Even without a reason, people who have found a new bud of love smile more often. They laugh louder, heartier. People, at this point of loving, could only see the best things in life making them happier than ever. Then the dilemma sets in.

Days pass by. Petty fights and insignificant issues haunt the relationship. Although the stroke of love is present, lovers seem to have lesser tolerance at each other’s mistakes. And when things fueled by quarrel start to blow out of proportion, love dies. People separate and off they head on to another relationship.

However, luckier couples make it through the difficult times. These mates choose to hold on to each other come heaven or hell. They exert effort to keep that love burning and constantly think of ways to reinvigorate what they have.

Love and relationship is indeed hard work.

So to speak, it is not a walk in the park. It is something to be nurtured when found. How love and relationships go solely depends on the persons involved. If they remain committed to each other and to what they have, then the probability of them ending up together for the rest of their lives is relatively high.

Truly, love and relationship is a lot of hard work.

He said…

I play with words, true.

But this is not my faculty to

sway lexis, sentences, and paragraphs

to a melodic refrain;

When my words shudder to

The sound of your voice,

seeking out all the nuances to your tone,

The density of your inflections

In the attempt to

Fashion a worthy tribute.

In your presence, as your purrs

Turn to roars; the words play me.

I am older, true.

In have breathed in much more

molecules and sauntered on extra paces

to close the gap to my mortality.

The rising of eyebrows in reply

To an unwelcome remark would send

Off a warning, not threatening, but

Rather evoking a hidden smile,

Like a private joke shared among friends.

With your naiveté, my defenses weaken.

With your complexity, my age condenses.

My memories drift, true.

But I remember fully your eyes

when we first met.

Shifting quickly between faces,

I could almost see your mind

Racing to lay the people behind the names

deciding who to welcome or discard.

I remember fully your birthday,

when you tucked an unruly hair from

behind your ear as you gazed down, smiling.

The golden light from the café bathed

your dusky skin into an almost bronzed tint.

I nursed my coffee for what seemed

An eternity but I knew it was just a flash.

My memories may drift,

But I take that moment with me to the grave.

You’ve grown, true.
No longer that wide-eyed girl who followed

Her daddy’s every move.

You braved bullets for an ideology,

Loved, scorned, and dared to love again.

Your smiles now hint at a secret.

A mystery that men seek to unravel.

I committed to memory your body’s every

curve, nook, recesses, and

each velvety corner.

More than any man, I know

What fills you; by the way you arched your back

in pleasure. Yet, I, too, am privy to that secret –

the mystery that you hint.

You’re a woman now,

And yet you’re still a girl, still

Looking to follow her daddy’s every move.

You’ve grown; and yet

Stayed similar.

Three years hence,

You’re no longer the same, as I.

This is not a love poem.

This is a tribute,

To the strong woman metamorphosed

From a timid and insecure child.

This is a work of gratitude

For the man that I’ve become –

Because of you.

This is not a love poem.

But your smell suddenly waft

Through the air just now, ever so subtly.

Don’t ask me how.

I’m drunk with your smell, even

If it’s just from my memory.

I just finished reading Paulo Coehlo’s Veronika Decides To Die. For so long, I have been dying to read this book that talks about a young beautiful woman who attempted suicide though she seems to have almost everything she wants but I just could not get hold of it. You see, every time I get so agitated to buy myself a copy of the book, something always comes up. It is either Weng and I splurged both our salaries on clothes and food or we have too many obligations to pay that buying the book becomes the least priority. For some time, I was contented with dropping by National Bookstore to look at the book being displayed along with the other books Coehlo had written.

Anyway, it must have been my fate to read Veronika Decides To Die that on the day I least expected, someone lend me the book saying that I should read it because its good. Expectedly, I got all so excited about reading it that I was scanning through its pages even while I was in my Fiscal Administration class. Coehlo did not disappoint me. His words were simple yet he was taking to Slovenia, right where Veronika was.

Veronika’s story is not extraordinary. She simply exemplifies all others, who get so tired about their cyclical (read boring) lives consequently leading them to think that living is but a waste of time. Yeah, I was her (except that she appears to be prettier and she had more boyfriends). However, the circumstances that led me to realize that living is actually a gift came in different form.

At a point in my life, I actually thought of committing suicide (go psycho!). Everything was going on a downhill for me. Nothing made sense that the most reasonable thing to do was end my life.

In committing suicide, however, I did not want to slash my wrist or jump from a building (Veronika and I had the same dilemma). Eeeewwww! I could not watch the blood gush out from my wrist nor do I want people visiting my wake to think of how unpretty I look inside my coffin (jumping would make look so ugly). The only choice left was drink poison (Veronika chose to drink loads of sleeping pills) yet I was also hesitant doing it dreading that I may not like the taste. Expectedly, I was not able to pursue my plans though the drive to commit suicide was still there.

Days went by. There were changes with how things were going for me. I began a new relationship; I was starting a promising work that gradually I found hope that better things are yet to come. Just as everything was going well, I was diagnosed to have tumor that was growing in my pelvic area. Right! I was devastated of course. The doctor told me it could be the big C and that we could only hope for the best.

I literally broke down when I went home after seeing my doctor. I was inconsolable. Not even the encouraging words my parents were telling me made me feel better and secure that everything is going to be okay. At the time when dying is a possibility, I realized I was not ready to give up all the happiness, fun and excitement plus the hardships, misery and boredom that comes with living.

It has been a year since the operation. It turned out that the tumor was non-cancerous, much to my relief. There are still times when I think of committing suicide yet I have conceded that it should never be option; its just not worth it. I have settled with crying and whining just to take out all my frustrations. They may not eliminate the problem entirely but doing those things take out some of the load I was carrying.

Just like Veronika, I continue to live each day. It's just a matter of attitude.