For months after my uneventful return from Cebu, I have willingly shackled myself inside our house like a hermit, isolated from the rest of the world, did absolutely nothing- but waited. The cause of this voluntary imprisonment, and pausing my world into a state of suspended animation, is that one decisive letter that would change my fate- my great expectation, the fulfillment of my dreams, my one opportunity for a financially secure future. The letter, of course, supposedly contains a confirmation that my application to take the NCLEX has been approved (or something of that sort, I am unsure since it was rather my first). And so I have put off all possibilities of romantic relationships, ignored the temptation of work, suffered the most undignified position of being penniless- and just waited, and waited some more. Alas, despite all the eager anticipation and the miserable pains that came along with it- the letter, nor anything that resembles it, did not come. Ultimately, my limited patience ran out, worse than the this country's rice shortage, and I am left utterly disillusioned, dejected, and hopelessly lost.

Oh, yes- and outrightly infuriated, as well. I have wasted an entire year without accomplishing anything, not mentioning the effort and money invested into that application, the painful studying- all have counted for nothing! Hah! My cabin fever-laced anger notwithstanding, I have little choice in the matter but to abandon the pursuit, even if just temporarily, and try to consider other options. Badly in need of money, and perhaps to restore some of my crumbling pride and sense of purpose, I have decided to return to my abandoned practice- as a nurse- if there is such a thing nowadays. I have heard some word that we nurses have to actually pay the hospital to be able to work. I have no idea what sort of bullshit is that (there are signs, however, that the government is trying to reverse this, but whether it is true in this part of the country is another question)- remembering the physical and mental torture that I have gone through the last time I was a 'ward nurse', I have not the inclination to pay even a penny to go through it all again. However, if I could retake my previous work, along with its pitiful salary, I would be- well, contented. I am tired of living like a hermit- I must go back to my life.

To hell with the NCLEX!

The clock struck midnight while he laid on his bed, twitching and turning in agitation, his thoughts mirrored the ravaging chaos that a tropical typhoon was stirring outside his very windows. The forceful winds howled menacingly and whistled through cracks in the thin wooden walls as the torrential rain produced an almost deafening clatter as millions of droplets impacted, and flowed forth like many streams to the sides of, the galvanized iron roofing of the boarding house. However, none of this was the cause, not the slightest, of his troubled mind whatsoever and seemed only to him as a sign of nature's approbation of what he was anticipating to occur that very cold, tumultuous morning. Oh, how it had opportunely landed on his lap- he could not begin to believe it! He wondered endlessly at whatever good deed, which were quite few, he had unwittingly committed for providence to have him thought worthy of such a reward. But no, it has nothing to do with that, not a bit of it- his gentleman charm, of course, has always been quite irresistible to the opposite sex- thus he told himself with great assurance, cackling pompously at the shadows that a lightning had thrown across the room.

Presently, he heard faint sound of foot falls, despite all noises previously alluded to, approaching from the hallway towards his present location. In sudden panic, he decided to close his eyes and pretended to have fallen into deep slumber, complete with an appropriate snore. Yet, his senses, especially his hearing, were as keen as that of a bat's. He listened intently as a key was inserted into the lock of his door, turned with a resounding click, and quickly yet carefully opened as the rusting hinges let out a long, gloomy creak. He perceived the same footfalls admitted a person into his unlit chamber as the door closed behind it with a slight snap, as if a lock was engaged. The intruder then slowly glided across the space, towards his bed, with feline-like agility. A sudden flash of lightning revealed the identity of the burglar- a female- clearly the object of the much-anticipated rendezvous- with long dark hair and clad only in, what seem to be, a plain white shirt which was not quite large enough that it left her slender legs rather exposed. This quick ocular opportunity, however, did not escape our sleeper's eye which, stealing a peek at the tantalizing form, caused his heart to rapidly pound within his chest.

He then felt her carefully sit at the edge of the bed and, without making further progress in her advances, could tell that she was closely watching him. Yet, he remained motionless, astutely resolute in imitating a corpse with brilliant likeness. But then she leaned closer, and closer, so that her warm breath was just a few inches from his face and the sweet scent of her perfume reached, and annoyingly tickled, his nostrils. Still, straining to prevent his sneezing and fighting the desire to probe it with a finger, he remained absolutely as lifeless as a pebble. Largely doubtful of the poor performance in front of her, she boldly initiated a reliable method of resuscitating him immediately back to life. She gently laid her hand upon his chest, seeming to check his vital signs, let it slid down fluidly down his belly, down still it went- and, with a pause, grabbed him viciously by his genitals. He let out a surprised gasp and sat up like a spring- putting an end to his stupid pretending. Victorious in rousing him up into complete consciousness, she giggled gleefully, and, releasing her grip upon his precious gems, proceeded at once to kiss him torridly in the mouth.

Caught initially by utter surprise, as he was in the process of nursing a sore appendage, his eyes could only flicker in amazement, struggling like a fish to keep up with her pace. Urged by manly pride not to be outdone, he decidedly took control in imposing his masculine will- grabbed her by the wrists, wrestled her down to the bed, and gained the superior position. It was then he who administered the art of kissing, gently, lovingly, at first; and slowly rising into an uninhibited frenzy that he looked like, in the pale darkness, a caterpillar devouring a poor leaf; at the same time, both of their respirations seem to increase in rate and in depth, along with their moans and groans, that one could mistake them as trying to snort one another with great difficulty. Perhaps it was this overzealous excitement of the moment, which could not be helped, that the woman in his loving arms was thrown into a state of mad-like ferocity- that she suddenly tugged rather harshly at his hair as her vicious canines took the liberty of sinking themselves into the soft flesh of his lip. Yelping loudly in painful shock, he broke away from her clutches, and, propelled solely by his momentum, fell backwards through a closet with a thunderous crash.

Freeing himself from the wreckage of clothing, books, and clouds of dust (and recovering from the rather embarassing incident)- he stood straight up without so much as a wince (although he was sore all over) and, wiping the blood gushing from his wounded lip, stared at her in bewildered amazement. Seeing that he was perfectly fine (in that he had not knocked himself unconscious), the rabid vixen only smiled at him, an attempt at apology. But her eyes, upon another flash of lightning, betrayed a look of sadistic mischief as if a demon succubus had then peered through them in mockery of his present situation. Upon witnessing this odd apparition, made worse by the dreadful weather, he hesitantly cowered behind a bedpost like a frightened child. Nevertheless, the supposed possessed lady, who sat perplexed by his behavior, will have none of it and warmly beckoned to him by affectionately caressing his hands which were now strangely glued to the bedpost. She, frustrated that her tender entreaties remained unheeded, finally lost her patience and took a more direct approach- seized him by the arm, forcibly wrenching him free with such unbelievable strength that he was thrown hastily back onto the bed, landed to resume his former position- on top of the heaving she-hulk.

Perhaps incensed by this blatant, unexpected show of strength (and perhaps angered that he was so easily man-handled)- he descended upon her with a vendetta and stripped her of her white bodice with relative ease, rendering her completely naked and exposed beneath him. Taken aback by his sudden, fearful outburst, it was her turn to be surprised, instictively covering herself with her arms and gaping at him wide-eyed like a helpless victim. Victorious in asserting his dominance, and seeing her quivering beneath his mercy, his maddened countenance broke into a menacing smile. Unceremoniously, his head dove down to ravage her exposed flesh with his mouth, unconscious of the pain of its wound, and devoured every inch of her as intense as a hungry wolf would devour a carcass. Her body, without offering much resistance, was put under a barrage of sensations and was feebly swept away in a surge of pleasure. Without warning, an earsplitting explosion of thunder emanated from the heavens, shaking the entire house in its foundations that, in sheer terror and alarm, her knee spastically threw itself up into his crotch with such a force that it lifted him wholly into the air- and, upon coming down, assisted by the same thrust, went straight on to collide his head with the wooden bedpost. His face twisted in agony and, encapable of making a sound, limply fell sideways to the floor- writhing and clawing in exquisite pain.

Without giving him respite (realizing that the old rickey boarding house somehow remained intact) to recover from the dual blow, she crawled down the bed with the uncanny nimbleness, and was instantly on top of him. Ostensibly insensitive, even flustered at the interruption, she ignored his whimpering and proceeded directly to disrobe him in a most deliberate manner that he was a bit hurt for her lack of concern for his welfare. Still rather dazed by his encounter with the bedpost, he idly laid on his back and let her have her way, cautiously eyeing her fearsome vigour. It took not a second for the interrupted ritual to recommence as passions were, despite bodily injury, once again ignited. The carnal act carried on, wild and feverish, with much more ferocity than before, as they both drunk from the cup of lust and desire to slake their insatiable thirst for one another exceedingly beyond intoxication. Their glistening forms intertwined, their breathings quickened, their moans heightened above that of the cyclone, as their motions gradually became beast-like in its intensity. Together, they both reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, screaming and groaning all the way, and, as their bodily frames were wracked by convulsions of pure sexual pleasure- she sadistically, and without apparent reason, dug her sharpened talons deep into his moist back and dragged them down mercilessly along his spine. His exhalations of delightful bliss quickly turned into an excruciating shriek and ebbing, by degrees, into a prolonged howl- an unearthly sound which could solely be compared to those that stem from the dark, clammy dungeons of medieval torture.

Outside his windows, the tropical storm unceasingly continued its reign of destruction and devastation, the effects of which would become evident in, and would be felt beyond, the coming light of morning.

Uuwi na ako. Pagod na ako, ayaw ko na dito- nakakahilo, paulit-ulit na lang araw-araw. Nakakabagot din pala ang mag-review na mag-isa, ngayon ko lang na-realize. Hindi kasi natuloy si Stella. Tsk! Sabagay, hindi ko rin naman talagang inaasahang matutuloy siya- masarap lang pagpantasyahan na makakasama ko siya sa review sa loob ng tatlong buwan. Totoong buhay nga pala ito, hindi nobela. Paano nga kaya kung natuloy siya? Malamang wala akong napag-aralan ni isa. Malamang ubos parati baon ko. Malamang nahulog loob niya sa akin. Hah! Nananaginip na naman ako. Anyway, uuwi na ako. Nakabili na ako ng tiket. Gusto ko nga sana bukas na kaagad kaya lang walang biyahe- sa biyernes pa. Lintik. Sa Butuan ko na lang ipagpapatuloy ang naumpisahan ko. May ilang chapters pa akong dapat tapusin at kailangan ko pa din pataasin score ko sa mga exams- ambababa kasi. Di bale, wala pa naman akong natatanggap na sulat o anuman mula sa CTS. May panahon pa. Medyo kinakabahan lang ako, medyo matagal-tagal na rin ang lumipas- di kaya nawala na nila ang application ko? Ah, hindi! Patience lang, mon ami. Hindi pa naman ako ready- gagamitin ko na lang ang paghihintay sa paghahanda ko sa exam. Huwag lang sanang abutin ng isang taon, Diyos ko! Gusto ko nang bumalik sa trabaho, wala na akong pera! Maipasa ko lang ang lintik na NCLEX na yan, wala na akong iisipin pa at makakahinga na ako ng maluwag. Pero sa ngayon, babalik na muna ako sa amin. Kaya, sa muli, paalam na Cebu!

I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath little of earth in it-
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute:-
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passerby.

~Edgar Allan Poe (1829)

I have abandoned blogging, for a time, since nothing of importance ever transpires when one is engaged in reviewing. Indeed, so repetitive my days have increasingly become that I decided to go home and take a time off from the doldrums of incessant studying, at least, for a week. This decision was reinforced by an incident of drinking, which threw me into a horrible hangover the next morning, that I realized the state of my emotional well-being, for I do miss home terribly, so as to throw myself into such an act that I have a long time ago renounced. And so, I went home to Butuan the very next day.

The weather was bad during the entire night of the voyage. It was bad enough that some of the passengers were wide awake, looking contemplatively at the cabinets containing the life-jackets and anxiously across the hull of the ship as if it were in danger of disintegrating altogether at their seams (the memory of the doomed 'Princess of the Stars' fresh upon their minds). However, we arrived safely and unscathed, although it was raining slightly. I welcomed the rain, and the cool morning breeze that accompanied it, for it threw a peaceful aspect upon the grim port of Nasipit- so far from the hurried clamour of Cebu.

I was surprised how my dogs have grown, when I first entered the gates of our home, and did not seem to recognize me- that I hurriedly went inside the house for they threatened to give my leg a most welcoming nibble. I annoyed my dear little sister endlessly, who was beginning her classes in college and refused to be treated like a baby anymore- which made me more resolved in treating like one (and irritating her all more). My parents were lavish on giving me all the food that I have crave, especially my father who was an excellent cook, thinking that I appeared a little emaciated. For a week, I did nothing. I watched television the entire day of the week, which is something I have been deprived of in Cebu, and found the change of activity strangely refreshing upon the exhausted mind.

My going home reinvigorated me sufficiently that I was again willing, not without hesitation, to come back to Cebu and compelled to resume my review. However, I hasten to end my time here, for I have recently determined to drag all of my things back to Butuan to continue my studies there- I have become weary of Cebu. It is my hope that, having gained an impetuous start in studying, that homely distractions would prove ineffective in halting or slowing its steady course. Moreoever, I have purchased a new review book, which I am eager to peruse the contents thereof and test my readiness with an included software. All the more reason to study at home. The thought of extending my time here for a month has occured to me, however, I believe I could not endure a moment more of this wretched seclusion.

Thus, I will leave Cebu- perhaps for the final time.

A place that I have considered, since upon my arrival, my sort of odd sanctuary from the heat and noise of the city- a study center- adorned with nothing except a few excerpts from the Bible and famous qoutes (to entice one's diligence towards one's goals) set in plain white-painted walls, and dimmed lights, while spanning across its width are rows of table enclosures which are everyday occupied by some slouching figure, bent over a manuscript or an ill-treated book, most likely, or have gradually fallen asleep upright. Here I burn my midnight oil, amidst other nameless, caffeine-addicted faces, with their occasional grunts and sniffs, the impatient sighs, the annoying whispers, the sounds of dropped and rolling pens, the creaking of chairs, the crisp turning of pages, the smell of instant coffee, the constant whirring of the airconditioning, the snoring. It is here that I imprison myself, willfully or unwillfully, for a month and a half more, to try and make the best of the time left to relearn what I have learned in college of which I have, in time, once again forgotten.

Alas! In truth, I go through it all with a robot-like enthusiasm, and I can already feel my passion slowly fading before me, despite my attempts to prevent the dreaded 'burn-out'. I am like an unfeeling zombie! Morose and weary, that with each passing day, I am more and more eager to finally part with it and return home to Butuan- to no longer eat my meals alone, to taste my father's excellent Ilocano dishes (instead of the Cebuano recipe which they mistake for food), wrestle with my beloved sister (and annoy her in her peaceful repose), play with my mischievous dogs (oh, how they must have grown now), and possibly spark romance with one of Stone's close friend. My only comfort, my solace, amidst feelings of longing and degrading morale- is that one day I might see the fruits of all these labors and sacrifices, when I will have battled the abbhored winged-demon of an examination, one glorious day, and stand victorious over its slain corpse. This thought gives me enough fervor to return to my reading and my incessant scribbling, which is beginning to wear out my fingers, with renewed vigour.

Oh, but how the days are long!

Yes! Yes, you are right, my dear, as you always seem to consider yourself to be. But you are right, I am angry with you. Why, you ask? Well, I shant tell you. Forgive me, but never will I give you the satisfaction. I will tell you this, however–Hold my glass for me, will you? Thank you–I will tell you that I regret every passionate word that I have ever uttered and I take back every foolish promises that I have ever made on that one particular drunken episode of which, may I add, you were ever the reason of (as you are the reason for my being one now). Mind you, my dear–No, stop sloshing it about. Give it here!–Mind! however, that they are not concocted lies; do not think that they are–for they may have been felt as truth, notwithstanding the state of my then intoxicated frame of mind. But how it makes me laugh now! Je t'attendrai toute ma vie, indeed. Ha! I oftentimes wonder what pathetic imp, with such perverted sense of humour, whispered those words into my ears and made me believe they were my own. I am afraid that I have allowed myself to be freely disposed to your ill-usage and selfish whims, of which can only be faulted upon my weakness (and which you have ever taken advantage of), for far too long. And, as sorry as I am, I must take your leave, my dear, once more. Curses! Pardon me, did I spill anything on you? No? No harm done then, now–You were saying my dear? Er–No, I will not hear it, I will not have your reasons–for I will believe them, without a doubt. Return to your silence and I shall return to mine, it is better that way. At least, we part on relatively better terms than the last time, do we not? Yes. Nod away, nod away. I only hope that, if fate ever had any kindness in its bosom, I shall never see you again. To you, my dear, my eternal love, as always–Cheers!

The speedy depletion of my resources, as I have recently felt, urged me to look deeper into the state of my personal finances (the most annoying thing, for me at least, because it seems deceptively easy), which I have been dreading lest I discover irraparable disarray. The details of my stay here have greatly occupied my mind, with my review being the most confusing of all (what review center am I going, I do not yet know), that I have not paid enough attention to how quickly and glutonnously I was eating away at my meager weekly allowance—until I was stupidly scratching my head one early morning, utterly confounded, and, for a second, thought that one of the 'four horsemen' (my smoking roommates who have all left last Wednesday, thankfully) has pillaged the pockets of my pants. A cup of coffee calmed my frantic mind somewhat, for I was near panic then, and made me realized that it was indeed I who alone pillaged my poor pants—and thus forced me to assess, diagnose, and evaluate (as a true nurse might) my present situation and attempt, thenceforth, to put my financial affairs in order. The result of my painful analysis showed me that the damage is not yet severe and that it can be sorted out quite easily—with sacrifices made here and there. Consequently, I must live on little for the coming weeks and must avoid situations wherein spending is an unavoidable possibility, especially romantic ones (which are suddenly and amazingly in abundance, at the most inopportune of times). But no matter, I shall get on quite well, I believe, and the solution will not affect my studies nor my health at any rate—although I may have to give up on that computer chassis that I have been very interested in purchasing. Ah, well.

"Well?"

"Well, miss?" I answered, almost falling over her and checking myself.

She stood looking at me, and, of course, I stood looking at her.

"Am I pretty?"

"Yes; I think you are very pretty."

"Am I insulting?"

"Not so much so as you were last time," said I.

"Not so much so?"

"No."

She fired when she asked the last question, and she slapped my face with such force as she had, when I answered it.

"Now?" said she. "You little coarse monster, what do you think of me now?"

"I shall not tell you."

"Because you are going to tell, up-stairs. Is that it?"

"No," said I, "that's not it."

"Why don't you cry again, you little wretch?"

"Because I'll never cry for you again," said I. Which was, I suppose, as false a declaration as ever was made; for I was inwardly crying for her then, and I know what I know of the pain she cost me afterwards.

Four technicians, working for a communications corporation, descended upon Cebu the other day to share the room with me. I do not mind the company, for it is quite lonesome inhabiting a relatively large room by myself with only an unintelligible gecko to converse with, and welcomed it cooly when thus informed by our host of their arrival. They come from Manila and speak Tagalog, a language I could feign to use as if it were my own tongue, and are a cheerful bunch. We could have gotten on in pleasant terms if only they did not insist upon smoking inside our stuffy room, despite the clear notice on the wall, every chance they get, and exacerbating the already stifling atmosphere- until our room resembles Padi's Point on a Saturday night (minus the band and beers). The bluish haze of cigarette fumes would loiter idly about in the air, refusing to go anywhere except inside my nose, and seem to be only interested in asphyxiating me. The room would reek of stale tobacco, even days afterwards, and would suffuse every fabric of clothing, bed lenins, towels, even bare skin with its distinct stench; and would hang stubbornly around me, most of all, like persistent flies to a carabao's anus- until our host suspected me of habitually spending nights in some beerhouse. I do not hate the act of smoking, being once a foolish teenager who learned of such vices (and have since ceased), as much as I abhor uncaring smokers who are not mindful of, and seems to be stupidly resolute in sharing their vile carcinogenic habits with, other non-smoking people- in public transports, in restaurants, in unaeriated rooms, even (once) in a pediatric ward. Wretched fiends!

A complication with my application for the NCLEX, like a vexatious relapsing dermatitis, had me spontaneously scurrying back to Cebu again to attempt to cure it. This time, however, I am to stay for longer than just a day- say, three months, as a matter of fact, for I intend to be ready for the review once the said problem is henceforth done with. Fixing the problem did not take a day; unfortunately, some documents are still in wanting and would necessitate some degree of waiting (argh!), much to my utter disappointment and disgust. And so, for the foreseeable weeks, I face, with gritting teeth and clinched fists, the hateful prospect of waiting and wasting in idleness. Summoning every last sliver of patience and self-control, and realizing that there is nothing that can be done, I turn my attention to my review book- timidly quivering at my side for fear, perhaps, of being torn to pieces.

An unavoidable drawback in trying to review without company is allowing one's self to be disposed to boredom and loneliness, as I have at numerous times realized, a situation most detrimental to learning. Stella and I had an undeclared agreement to review together, however, with her family situations tying her down- I am left in my lonesome to tackle the three months ahead, all the while fending off depressive episodes of which I am increasingly developing, luckily, an immunity to. Fortunately, a former beer-buddy, Bacchus, has expressed his desire to review with me, if his application pushes through; although I am not too keen on the idea, for he always seem to succesfully lure me with him without failure, despite my strong objections, into drinking rampages of which has no end until I have turned into a complete idiot trying to steal a kiss from every passing female or prostate senseless, muttering and groaning, in severe intoxication.

The possibility of my having company throughout the review, even if it is the god of wine himself, has put me in better and livelier spirits. Albeit, I would have rather much prefered, and have looked forward to with utmost eagerness, the dreamy notion of sweating in the same classroom, of sharing lunch and dinners, of sleeping beneath the same roof, of being a faithful accomplice in the noble undertaking of bringing down and beheading of that grotesque prancing monster which is the NCLEX- with Stella, goddess of virtue, more than any god or deity in the world. And all the bitter miseries and sadness, associated with waiting and studying in a cold strange land away from the warmth of home and the affection of loved ones, would have still transformed into a sweet and most entrancing of experiences. I suppose, looking back, pleasant the thought might seem, it was too perfect to be a reality- an occassion which I am inclined, for just a night, to celebrate with Bacchus and his bottomless wine.

It was by some unseen force, unknown to me even now, that murdered my cowardice, blinded my reason, and infused me with hapless courage- that I decided, against all remonstration, to meet with Stella, one windy day in Cebu, after years of outright silence. Days have passed by since, I have returned home, and have been struggling with great difficulty to write about (for I deem it necessary, for some vague reason) my date with my amiable ex. I recollect now with great fondness and vivid clarity, as if it were only yesterday, the moments that those two wonderful hours contained: of us walking closely together sheltered beneath a flimsy umbrella, of me talking to her whom for years existed only in my thoughts and dreams, of her mentioning her blog that only holds a single entry (a thought that made her smile which she tried in vain to conceal), having a curious slip-of-the-tongue, and of us loitering about the mall reminiscing, laughing, and pretending all the while to ignore the deafening palpitations of the heart and the uncontrollable paroxysms of the hands. It is amazing to me how she could make me that happy, more than anyone ever could or in any time I could possibly remember, so much so that I wonder if it was all but a dream. I never wanted it to end, but eventually it must, at some point- that of which was my waking. Yet, even after we have bade each other farewell, I remained enthralled by the experience and walked (or floated) amongst the shops of SM as if they were made of soft clouds; and I must have worn the most ridiculous of smiles for people looked at me in a funny sort of way.

Alas! What I have foreseen and feared as the consequences of my baneful decision began, unceremoniously, to torture me and at once shackled me into that dark cell of wretchedness and misery which I only know too well. The two hours of joy brought with it the forgotten past and all the feelings that I once tried so hard to bury, bursting out with such strength like an immense torrent that could not be stopped. Love thenceforth reawakened and, in fierce vengeance, freely bestowed upon me that familiar pain which no amount of liqour could benumb nor any sort of soothing could alleviate. For- she is not mine! And he whom she wilfully gave her heart to, the same person who touches her sweet lips with his, who feels the warmth of her embrace, who hears her soothing whispers, who beholds her smiles and know that they are his only (joys that I would voluntarily bleed myself dry to get back for an hour, a minute, or even just a mere second)- is not I! Oh, dear God- the torment of this realization is too much for me to bear. It swelled inside me, and wrenched, and gnawed, and tore me within, with such unutterable pain that I fear I could lose my very insanity. Heavens, how much sorrow can thou endure me to take? I weakened, in drunken wretchedness, and cried piteously (out of helplessness), and shed bitter tears as bitter as the tears that fell on the first day I lost her. I welcomed them all, like long-lost friends who once kept me company on many sleepless nights.

But I have no regrets, and that if I were to be confronted by the same dilemma again, I would not have decided nor have done anything differently (except, perhaps, to have tried everything in my power to prolong our time together, and pleaded with her to stay, even just a little while longer). This much I can say with certainty that I am compelled to say it again: I have no regrets, none whatsover. And I am glad that I waited on her and met her, despite my letter explaining my supposed absence, for I would have asked myself endless question of 'what-ifs' and would have irately pulled my hair at all the 'what-could-have-beens' if I had decided otherwise. I was happy, and that is enough. I shall relish the new memories given to me, as I shall savor the sweet misery that accompanies it, if only to remind me that I yet live and that I have a heart that can love still. I have realized, too, that perhaps my love for her was never dead, as I thought it was, and that it only lay in shallow slumber- to be reanimated fully by the slightest sound of her voice, by the comfort of her touch, by the smallest hint of her presence. That I still love her, I am no longer ashamed to say (as if it were a weakness, of which I am guilty of), and that I love her with a love that is deep and true as I have never loved any denizen upon this earth. I shall love her with patience, and will await for her- until her heart is free, until fate and the world have lost their will to oppose us, until I have resurrected the love she once felt for me (as she did mine). I will await, my entire life if need be, until time should shrivel and waste my body and steal from me all my memories, until the earth should reclaim my flesh and throw my heart to the worms.

I will await for her.

I settled into a corner bunk, which I do not own, and hoped that no one would attempt to claim it for I hate to spend a night beside a stranger without so much as a respectable barrier nor do I desire to be on the top bunk where it is most cumbersome getting down and getting up again (the cashier gave me a top bunk despite my pleading to give me the bottom). As I readied myself for the six-hour voyage to Cebu, a couple descended out of nowhere, took the opposite bunk, and abruptly started, as if I wasn't there, to flirt shamelessly in front of me. I bought and attempted to read a newspaper, all the time feeling uncomfortable and increasingly uneasy at their frivolous giggling and lusty whisperings. Unable to withstand it any longer, irritated and angry, I stood and walked out of the room, took a stroll outside to gaze at the harbor lights and the agitated ocean half-swallowed by darkness.

---

The winds have increased their strength, as the ship headed to Cebu in the darkness of the night (the overly affectionate couple had gone somewhere, I hope, still aboard), and the waves shook the ship to such an extent that I felt sick to my stomach. It would have been an expected thing, with the tail of a typhoon still whipping the country, and perhaps bearable to a certain degree that I could have fallen asleep oblivious to it all- except for the infernal snoring of that abhorred man fast asleep not five feet away from me. He made the most horrible of noises possible for a human being, from grunts to growls to farts to something even I cannot describe, and robbed half of the tourist class passengers, especially me, of their precious sleep. An entire herd of hippopotamus during mating season could have made a more gentle chorus than that confounded pig's nocturnal carols, the brute.

---

Morning came. I was able to sleep, somehow, by some miracle. I had intended murdering the man in his sleep, or endeavoured to throw him overboard when I awake, alas! he was not in his bed, the animal. After fixing myself, I went outside, bracing myself against the howling winds, and stared across the bleak horizon. Presently emerged Cebu- a spit of mottled land studded with sticks and covered by a blanket of smog, waving in the high winds. I took in a deep breath of the moist sea air, felt the sting in my bosom, and my hand started shaking once again. I watched the waves threw themselves against the side of the ship, tried to calm my troubled heart and empty my chaotic mind, and strived to find something to smile about- but rather looked like a forlorn and lost stranger all the same.

---

Writing from Cebu, inside a cafe, wasting time and loitering in indecisiveness...

It may not always be so; and I say
That if your lips, which I have loved, should touch
Another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
His heart, As mine in time not far away;
If on another's face your sweet hair lay
In such a silence as I know, or such
Great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

If this should be, I say if this should be-
You of my heart, send me a little word;
That I may go unto him, and take his hands,
Saying, accept all happiness from me.
Then shall I turn my face, and hear one bird
Sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

~E.E. Cummings

Kahit na kay sarap isipin ng aming muling pagtatagpo, ako at si Stella, hindi ko mapigilang makadama ng kaonting pangangamba at pagdadalawang-isip. Gusto ko ba talagang makipagkita kay Stella? Handa ba ako? Ngayon pa lang ay nakikinita ko na ang lahat ng maaring pag-atake sa aking marupok na damdamin, ang resultang hindi pagkatulog sa maraming gabi, at ang pagbabalik ng lubos na pagka-uhaw sa alak. At sa ngayon ay hindi ako sabik upang dalawin muli ang mga ala-ala at mga damdamin na kakamot sa mga naghilom nang sugat. Maaring sabihin mo, kaibigan, na malamang ako ay isang duwag, mahina, o lampa. Pero kung ikaw ang nasa aking kalagayan—hindi mo kaya iiwasan ang mga pangyayaring alam mong delikado? hindi mo ba aalisin ang kamay mo sa apoy kapag nadama mo ang init? hindi ka kaya aatras kung alam mong dehado ka sa laban? Ngunit, sa likod ng lahat, may boses pa rin sa loob kong sumisigaw na 'bahala na!' Bahala na. Ang motto ng pinoy. Sabagay, puwede ko rin namang kunin lang ang puwede kong kunin—ang isang araw sa piling niya. Isang araw, yun lang—isang araw matapos ang apat na taon. Isang araw ng kaligayahan, ng pagbabalik-tanaw, ng kuwentohan, ng tawanan, ng pakikiramdaman, ng pagpapapanggap. O kahit na kalahating araw lang. At pagkatapos noon, puwede ko nang iwanan ang lahat. Makukontento't mabubusog na ako. Kung sana ganoon lang kasimple. Kung sana ayus na ang isang araw. Kung sana may kabusugan. Sana, sana, sana.

Ah, ewan!

Hindi siya galit (hay, salamat) sa akin, o sa kaninoman, at ang tanging dahilan ng kanyang napakahabang katahimikan ay ang kanyang apuradong pag-uwi. Nakabalik na siya sa Pilipinas, sa lubos kong pagkagulat, at ngayon ay nakikitira sa kanyang mga kamag-anak sa Manila, at nagmamayabang na diumano'y namiss ko siya (totoo naman). Hindi ko alam kung bakit, sabagay hindi na siguro importante, kung bakit siya pina-uwi na para bagang salawal lang niya ang kanyang naidala sa pagmamadali. Ang alam ko lang ay narito na siya at pupunta siya sa Cebu sa susunod na linggo dahil sa panibago niyang review, at doon ay magkikita kami—dahil nataong pupunta rin ako (sabay halakhak).

Pilit ko mang hindi manabik sa aming muling pagkikita, matapos ang napakahabang panahon, ngunit sadyang hindi ko mapigilan ang aking sarili—ganoon nga talaga kanyang epekto sa akin. Nanginginig ang aking mga palad na parang pasmadong taga-plantsa, at parang magigiba ang aking dibdib dahil sa lakas ng pagpupumiglas ng aking puso—sa tuwing ito'y naiisip ko. Kaya naman hinintuan ko muna ang pagkakape, at tinigilan ang pagyoyosi, at pinapalipas na lang ang panahon sa pagbabasa ng mga lumang komiks. Ilang araw na lang ngunit animo'y napakatagal ang pagtakbo ng mga oras. Wala pa naman akong pasensya sa paghihintay. Pero magkikita kami, sa wakas, magkikita kami!

Ano kayang mangyayari sa muli naming pagtatagpo, matapos ang marami naming awayan, tampuhan, sigawan, hiwalayan? Makikilala pa kaya niya ako? Hindi kaya siya maiilang, o maasiwa, o muling mamuhi sa akin? Nailalarawan kong ngingiti siya, tatawa na parang lasing, at bigla hahampasin ako sa balikat, o sa noo, o di kaya sa mukha, sabay tanong 'kumusta ka na?' Sasagot ako nang nakangiti, mapapailing at hihimasin ang parte na kanyang pinalo, tatawa siguro, magkukunwang hindi apektado, ipapalagay na hindi kumakabog ang dibdib at nanginginig ang mga daliri. Siguro papayag na siya sa imbetasyon kong mag-kape man lang kami, o mananghalian, o manuod ng sine, o mamasyal sa mall, sa parke, sa krus ni Magellan, sa lumang fort na may istatwang unggoy. Mag-uusap kami, gugunitain ang nakaraan, magsisisi, magkakabistohan... Lintik!

Haay, panaginip.

In an effort to find a lost book this morning, I came instead to find my dearest motherboard, tucked away and almost forgotten inside a cupboard, along with other of its equally forgotten and piteous cohorts. Oh, my poor baby! I have purchased it last year and the only parts that I was able to purchase since then were a pair of memory modules and a storage drive. Financial scarcity forced me to discontinue, although temporarily, my computer project and hid my proud P5N32-E SLI in a dark box. If it could only talk, it would bitterly curse me, its master, and accuse me of blatant abandonment. It had, for a time, given me a sense of purpose in compensation for the complete absence of any; and was once the sole source of joyous excitement when all fell into dreary monotony. It is an ambition I have had for so long, and one that I intend to bring into fruition. As I carefully replaced it in its former place, after methodically checking that all of its contents were present, I renewed the promise I have made. And indeed I will see it through, just as soon as accomplish my present, more important aim. Ah, if only I had money.

I fail to remember whether it was I, out of my being 'affected' and all that, or was it her? who started this sudden unnerving silence. I am more inclined to believe that it was the latter (she has done it in the past, you know) for obscure reasons I have yet to ascertain. Whatever her reasons may be, if there are indeed any, for bluntly imitating a mute, she dare not say. As for me, I have deftly avoided being near the computer, except perhaps for occasions such as this, and uninstalled my messenger program, although in futility (my sister installed it back again). For, even if it were undeniably pleasant and had me suddenly singing songs of love (much to the curiosity and annoyance of the house), there is nothing to be had in conversing with her as there is nothing to be had in pricking one's eye with a rusty nail. I still treasure the friendship we have (or had), of course, but this 'chatting' will not do for it is most detrimental to me and is the foremost culprit for my being wretched. I rather prefer we communicate in other less-frequent, less-personal, less emotionally-damaging methods; to lessen the dosage, as it were. I am missing her terribly, and at times unbearably, for she fills my thoughts the entire day and would frolic in my dreams every night - but I shall continue to be firm, even without the benevolent aide of alcohol, in putting her out of my head completely. It is only prudent and, perhaps, for the best (my feeble attempt to convince myself) and indeed it gained me precious time to be allowed to return to my studies, which has laid in neglect like an obsolete cellphone for days now, and to restore my lost focus back to my present ventures. My receiving a confirmation letter, one which I have anxiously waited a month to arrive, from the CGFNS yesterday served as a soothing consolation to my throbbing misery. The letter gave me, at least, an indication that things were moving along at a steady, if not expedient, pace - thus, renewed my energy upon readying myself for the anticipated NCLEX. I still hope, however, that Stella would send word, if only to declare that I have not earned her ire, and relieve my apprehension for her strange uncommunicativeness - because her friendship, which is all that is left of what we once had, is something that I cherish more than any other.

---

She said, quite vaguely, that 'the bloodiest battles in life are those fought for things that are already lost' - are they not, may I add, the most noble as well?

"I promise you a day will come when our children and grandchildren will look back and they'll ask one of two questions. Either they will ask, 'What in god's name were they doing? Didn't they see the evidence? Didn't they realize that 4 times in 15 years the entire scientific community of this world issued unanimous reports calling upon them to act? What was wrong with them? Were they too blinded, numb by the busyness of political life or daily life to take a deep breath and look at the reality of what we're facing? Did they think it was perfectly alright to keep dumping 70 million tons every single day of global warming pollution into the earth's atmosphere? Did they think all the scientists were wrong? What were they thinking?' Or, they'll ask another question. They may look back and they'll say, 'How did they find the uncommon moral courage to rise above politics and redeem the promise of American democracy and do what some said was impossible and shake things up and tell the special interests, ok we've heard you and we'll do the best we can to take your considerations into account, but we're gonna do what's right."

~Al Gore

Is the world going to end? Well, I need not ask. I know that the world will one day end. Everything eventually must, you know, one way or the other. It is inevitable. But will I live long enough to see it? I only dare ask for- I want to see it. It may be an utterly morbid and unbearably tragic a thing to want to witness, but I do, I want to see it. I was never there when the world began and so, at least, I want to be there when it ends. And I believe I will, sooner than everyone anticipated, already I am seeing the portentous manifestations of its beginnings.

The expediency of the world's demise is mainly due to our credit. I do not exactly know, and I do not pretend to assume, how we got here without an inkling where we were going, but here we are- knocking at the bleak gates of Global Warming, scratching our heads and trembling all over. Now, it may have been possible we could not have foreseen this, that we are, in a way, innocent; but surely there has been clear warnings in the past. It has taken such a ridiculously long time, but we are beginning to realize, and accept, that it is indeed possible: that we are, at present, baking our asses in an increasingly-pyretic, greenhouse gas-enriched atmosphere and putting into motion chain of consequences that will ultimately lead to, well- the end of the world!

Our hesitant realization and our meager amends has come, I fear, rather too late. Global Warming is irreversible. Nature itself would take hundreds of thousands of years to repair all the damages we have wrought. We can slow it, perhaps, but it cannot be stopped. We are sooner to exhaust all remaining fuels that we can drill out of the earth's bosom, in our blind drive for economic development and progress, than to make earnest and assertive efforts to avert our fate. Soon, we shall pay the consequences of our ignorance, our indifference, our indolence, our greed. We will reach the temperature 'tipping point'and the world will be engulfed in hellish unabating fever or nature will plunge it into a bitter eternal winter. Eitherway, the world shall end and, with it, so shall human civilization- and I will welcome it.

It is only justice for what we have excessively taken and ignored to give back.

---

Humans, behold your final outstanding achievement- you have reset the world!

How wrong was I to think that I could relish some semblance of peace and tranquility, away from the irksome cares of the world! I deem complete and peaceful seclusion necessary for nursing a weary, weary heart; alas! it all came to a precipitous end just recently by Stella who, like a rousing spectre emerging from the dark graves of years ancient, came unannounced to torment me. Her artless message came one uneventful evening, comprising only of a few words, and asking me how I was. Ha! Indeed. This unexpected attempt at establishing contact between us, which has long since been violently rended due to heated exchanges in the past, surprised me to the extent that my eyes nearly detached themselves from their sockets upon seeing her unmistakable words, ended by the familiar 'alias of affection'.

I suppose I could have ignored the aforementioned message, have I known the onslaught that lay within its wake, and it would have been the end of it. However, no matter how intent and resolute I am in forgetting her and putting our past behind me, incredible as it may seem, I simply could not help myself. Like an unfortunate mariner lured in by the seductive songs of sirens, I find myself powerless to resist the temptations of having the pleasure of conversation with her, my 'worthy foe', once more. Thus, eventually, I give in to my weakness and replied to her inquiry with wary congeniality. Technology afforded the means of communication between her, sitting comfortably in Singapore, and I, squatting in the humidity of a backwater country. We chat for long hours (often at the expense of my household chores), until our eyes become inflamed or finally succumbing to the pangs of hunger.

We talk of past and present undertakings, of future plans, of old dreams and aspirations, of trivial things (but leaving out that dark stain that was the antecedent to our previous virulent severance). We talk and laugh as though we have never been apart or imbittered. Familiar emotions flow through me. I wince at all the throes and pains I once felt during my three years-long crusade of purging her from my heart and thoughts; yet, also astoundingly elated, even happy, like a giddy boy holding in secret an infatuation for a pretty, more giddy girl. As I have predicted, long extinguished embers begin to glow anew into life and threaten to wholly devour me into their flaming mouths. Although I could not be faulted for feeling emotions that she has unintentionally stirred (for she is, as she said, 'charming'), it is , I agree, rather misplaced and inappropriate - for her precious heart belongs to someone else.

Do you see now my bourgeoning predicament? That fact, an afflicting disappointment (nothing short of a spear through one's heart) as it was, doesn't appear to affect my feelings at all, strangely enough. I came to realize that her recent efforts in re-establishing friendly interactions may not be for purposes of romance (foolish wretch!) but perhaps rooted upon a realization, as I have, that we were friends before we were lovers, and that friendship in itself, after all is said and done, is too precious to be allowed to die. I might be inclined to believe it, indeed I must, had it not been for an entry in her blog, curiously entitled 'P.S. I'm Still Not Over You', containing a suspicous undertone to the contrary. Or is it? I guess I shall never know her true feelings or intentions, and neither will she of mine, for, ruled by pride and gentility, I am steadfast in that the stupid sentiments, which I may have lately developed, remain unvoiced and undeclared - for the sake of us both.

---

Mon amour, je t'attendrai toute ma vie.

I was at my old school sometime last week, with a purpose of procuring some documents, and chanced upon an old friend of mine. I call her Stone, for that's her name (her parents apparently deemed it necessary for her appelation to exude manly strength, thus), much to her annoyance. I alone apparently call her by it, however, to the point that she no longer cared and perhaps even thought it sweet. She was pleasantly surprised to see me, having been apart for more than a year, and swiftly snatched my hands and proceeded forth directly to interrogate me. I felt suddenly like a prosperous traveler returning home from a bountiful jorney, only that - I wasn't. Not at all, for heaven's sake. And so, awkwardly removing my hands from her bony clutches, asked her instead of what she has been up to.

What was I to tell her? That I have been here, detained and baking my nuggets in this infernal house, insultingly charged with acting as its cook and janitor, my life and professional career on hold, keeping company my brother's new wife and a dog suffering from post-partum depression, without a source of income whatsover (except the occasional 'encode and print'), and eternally waiting for fate to mercifully end my misery? No, I shall betray nothing of the sort. My battered dignity has suffered enough beating. I am at present trying to put into motion the tedious process of applying for the NCLEX, something I conveniently did not disclose, and which may I say has the potential to be more complicated than a lobotomy. The waiting, as I have mentioned, is most exasperating. I have never been a patient person all my life, and this, I tell you, has me dangling at the end of my wits! I busy myself now with study and physical exertion, however, no palliative activity can mask the awful feeling of a degrading pride.

I am at present seriously contemplating employment, which obviously would mean the sacrifice of studying. Employment would, nonetheless, solve my financial problems and restore my somewhat diminished sense of worth. But should I forfeit my examination preparation for the benefits of work? I, dislike it as I might, do not think so. The reason is vague to me but I believe it is necessary to continue this hermit life and to return only to my profession with renewed energy and passion when I have finally accomplished the aforementioned undertaking. To get it over with, as it were. Besides, I have only one chance of slaying the NCLEX, like an abhorrent winged daemon, and it would require my utmost concentration and single-minded devotion. For there is nothing more after this but to bury one's head in earning an honest living even if it is barely enough to purchase and replace my moth-eaten underwear. And to await anew my so-called 'great expectations' - which look, as of yet, so far away.

Stone, looking rather like a matchstick more than ever, absentmindedly ignored my question and expressed her delight in our accidental meeting - until a male friend of hers dressed in feminine robes rudely interrupted us, entreating her to fix his dress without even a word of apology. Never missing a cue and remembering my existing appointment, to which I was relatively late, excused myself and hurriedly left. Stone texted me later that night and we continued our conversation. She has recently, as she so boastfully stated (and which I have already suspected), a new boyfriend. It reminded me, so suddenly and without warning, of Stella and how a certain gentleman friend of hers has somehow affected her seemingly harmless smiles. Severing my ties with society has had one significant effect that I have forgotten to mention - my social life, and in effect, my romantic life (no matter how relatively dormant it usually is), is sacrificed as well. I shrugged it off easily enough, however, it made me more eager to part with the balls and chains that has me tied down to my present despicable situation. As I begged farewell, I have a feeling that I will not see my increasingly-gaunty friend nor of the outside world for a long while.

Ah well, have I not always desired a moment of utter privacy?