Now that it finally expires – madness and all insatiable kinds of things that kept me wakeful, breathless, trembling, impervious to reason and incessantly on the point of tears for what seemed half a decade, I found my sanity restored, regained my happiness, went exercising and prepared good meals, called my parents, shared stories with friends unseen for months, wrote happy poems, watched the news, made a point to be amusing, and celebrated each new day upon the sidewalk with a few cheerful people waiting for something miraculous to happen.

Some people say that love, when it is broken, lies about in little pieces. They further say that you have to walk around such feelings or they will pierce you like a thorn.

I’ve lived most of my life believing them. Probably it is one reason I’d never gotten myself off the chains of drama.

But, to this day, whenever the old feelings come to mind, I tend not to wonder about it — all the stupid questions raised but remained unanswered. Somehow, I’ve become more aware of it as time rolls by that I finally know how to break loose.

So where do I go from here?

I’m so tired of reading old letters. For now, I will dress and walk to the market. It is a glorious day.


This morning everything is clean; the landlady of the house I am living in has picked up the branches and leaves strewn around the yard, which I normally pass by; all the rags and curtains have been washed and hung dry but pocked with impressions of rain, and the wooden floor glisten in the yellow seven am light. I sit at the living room couch with a stick of cigarette, looking at the grace of the morning.

Today is much new from all the other days. I woke up at six, cooked omelet, and ate while looking at the beautiful sunrise, wondering how many times I missed it. It’s not much new from the many other mornings I woke up but still, I felt something miraculous is about to happen. This time I know something will come, eventually. I sometimes wonder if this excitement, this growing expectation can ward off the miracle from happening. But I have felt it. It is coming. I am waiting while reading Derek Walcott’s poem, Love After Love.
Life is as simple as riding through the roads to your workplace in a typical song-filled jeepney, sitting next to a person who is so beautiful that every time you look at him/her you just feel good all over =))