All is good, all is well, all shall be better.
All is good, all is well, all shall be better.
The last installment of the RunRio Trilogy, Run United 3, is now open for registration! Here are the event particulars.
|Category||Registration Fee||Gun Start||Inclusions|
|500m||₱350||7:00AM||Singlet, Active Health Visor, Bib with B-tag, Riovana 10% Discount/Raffle Stub||Active Health Duffel Bag & Drinks, Race Analysis|
|21K||₱900||4:00AM||Active Health Finishers Medal, Finishers Shirt, Duffel Bag & Drinks, Race Analysis|
You may register online at www.runrio.com until September 02, 2012, or at the following sites until September 09, 2012:
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We waited patiently for rain to arrive, but that night (or was it morning already?) — it did not. We know what is to come because the sky has been threatening us for days. Only, now, there is no other sound. We waited, in vain, because we had nothing to say. Silence scared us.
I would be lying if I said I remember those hours like it was yesterday. I do not. I could only grasp bits and pieces, and fiction often bears too much resemblance to fact for me to tell the difference. Perhaps, there is none, or it does not matter.
Some things, though, you could not scrap from memory. They lay untouched, unfazed by time and losing count of how much of it has passed. The scent of your hair, a mixture of musk and workday sweat. Your calloused fingertips, circling my palm, as if to trace my fate. The way your voice, though reduced to a whisper, still managed to block out the sound of the city struggling to evade sleep, as you sang me a song about stars and waves.
I could remember your gasp, that sharp intake of breath. After, you laid your head upon my chest, listening for that pause in between heartbeats. I like to put it this way rather than saying you simply fell asleep. For a while, I watch you, assured of your nearness by the rise and fall of your breathing. I could not see, but I know, you are here. I could hear.
The blandness of the world when we stepped out in the open. The unwritten rule, the unspoken agreement: we will never speak of this again. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights welcomed us back, but the walls shook with condemnation. We rejoined reality too soon, but perhaps, it’s time.
I follow your footsteps as you hurry out. It was always the darkest before dawn, they say. You and I though, we are in a perpetual state of evening. I wonder what it’s like seeing you in broad daylight, flaws and all. I wonder where your words come from when you are not drunk, when you are not spewing borrowed lines from poets just because you are yet to come up with those of your own.
You haven’t lived enough, you like to say. You are incapable of feeling, I respond.
We cross the deserted highway without a word. You do not even hold my hand, you do not even cast me a glance. You are not here anymore, are you?
Headlights flood our vision. The sound of wheels screeching to a halt bounce off every inch of this boulevard. Here it is, the last contact. I am whisked away. When I look back, the highway stands alone, perhaps it always did. I am lost.
Somebody turned on the lights. Daybreak. Day, break, broke. All at once, we can see everything all over again. We pretend nothing happened. We pretend we never really wanted more.
Beds are creaking as my brothers toss and turn upon my arrival. They know nothing of the fires we put out, the scars that will remain. They are badges of honor now, as if possession was as easy, as simple as this.
I get into bed, minutes away from slumber, energy long gone. You took it away and named it yours. Perhaps by now, you have forgotten.
We cast distance off as evil only after we realize the dangers of proximity. It leaves us wanting – needing – more. The void inside grows, persists, endures. Outside, evening finally surrenders to day. The roosters announce betrayal.
The first few drops of rain arrive. The stillness comes to an end. For a while, I forget, too. I watch the upheaval of the sky.
We could not say we did not know this was coming.
And then, a storm. I have long jumped, both feet in, and drowned.
If only I could suffocate you with metaphors, hide your name behind a brilliant plot line, immortalize your words through the inevitability of poignant dialogue, make the denouement less painful, less real. All those twists and turns, edits and re-writes led me here, right now, with you. A page or a hundred, a story or none at all, for stories have endings, and we don’t. We will never do. Never mind if critiques have always hated the lack of closure — as if in the real world, everything gets resolved. They don’t, but we will remain here, consigned to a fate only we understand.
This is all, this is all that we could be.
hindi natin masasabi, hindi dahil naubusan na tayo ng (panahon/salita/pagmamahal/load) pero dahil hindi pa tama ang (oras/lugar/Red Horse Extra Strong).
hulaan mo na lang ang gusto kong sabihin. at ako
ay magpapakahibang at maniniwala sa kagaguhang may gusto ka ring sabihin sa akin
pero hindi mo masabi.
(e, pa’no na kung wala pala.) ‘di buti na lang ‘di ko sinabi.
Harry Burns: The first time we met, we hated each other.
Sally Albright: No, you didn’t hate me, I hated you. The second time we met, you didn’t even remember me.
Harry Burns: I did too, I remembered you. The third time we met, we became friends.
Sally Albright: We were friends for a long time.
Harry Burns: And then we weren’t.
Sally Albright: And then we fell in love.
i. desire gives us a sense of time. — Levinas, according to a classmate’s Philosophy notes
ii. tama. siguro. baka. parang ganito:
iii. limang buwan na ngayon. pero depende na rin siguro ito sa kung anong konsepto ng oras – at sa paglipas nito – ang pinaghahawakan mo. pepwedeng bawat apat na linggo, tulad ng ginawa ko nung simula, nung mga unang araw, unang linggo, unang buwan. halimbawa: uy, pang-apat na Sabado na. isang buwan ka ng wala.
iv. pepwede rin namang ayon sa kung anong araw sa kalendaryo naganap ang pangyayari, tulad ng ginawa natin, nung andito ka pa.
v. ito ay kung binabalikbalikan mo rin ba ang oras tulad ng ginagawa ko.
vi. ito ang problema natin: delikado ang epekto sa atin ng katahimikan. kinakailangan kasi nating mag-imbento ng kabilang dako ng pag-uusap kapag naiwan na tayong mag-isa.
vii. madalas, mukha tayong sira-ulong kinakausap ang sarili. nagbabakasakali.
viii. sa totoo lang, siguro nga. wala na kasing dahilan para manatiling rasyonal. mas masarap magpakahibang.
ix. “Goodnight, b!” ipadala sa sarili. kunwari galing sa’yo.
x. ang problema: halos wala na rin akong maalala. hudyat ba ‘to na patapos na ang kalbaryo?
xi. minsan, hindi ko na mapagkaiba ang mga totoong nangyari sa mga produkto lang ng imahinasyon ko.
xii. tulad nito, paulit-ulit, hanggang ngayon: isang hapon. sa isang bus. sa isang tulay sa may Balintawak. hawak mo ang kanang kamay ko at naglalambing ka na parang bata. inis na inis ako.
xiii. ito ang huli: isang Sabado ng gabi, tulad ngayon. isang desperadong tawag sa’yo at ang pagtawa mo. “Wala na akong masabi, eh.”
xiv. “Umiiyak ka ba?”
xv. “Hindi.” Baka kasi sabihin mong para akong bata.
xvi. “We’ll stay friends.”
xvii. (ang pagtatago sa ilalim ng kumot ng dalawang linggo hanggang akalain nang patay ng mga kaibigan)
xviii. pangalawang buwan. “Waiter, isang bucket pa please!”
xix. dalawang buwan at tatlong araw. nakilala ko siya. saglit kang nawala sa isip.
xx. …ngunit bumalik rin kasi hindi pala posible. hindi pala ganun kadali.
xxi. pangatlong buwan. may mga nakatago na akong linya sa isip ko sakaling makasalubong ka. parang ganito:
xxii. “Kumusta ka?”
xxiii. “Maayos naman.”
xxiv. *end of interaction*
xxv. apat na buwan. isang mensahe para sa’yo through text. “I’m sorry for..”
xxvi. walang sagot. “Putangina naman Bash, ganyan ka ba katigas?!”
xxvii. kanina, naalala kong limang buwan na: hindi ka na babalik.
xxviii bakit ngayon ko lang ‘to naisip.
xxix. siguro oras na para tumigil sa pagbilang.