Déjà vu
So today I caught the middle The Holiday for the first time on HBO as I was preparing for work and… it was eerie how I heard Iris (Kate Winslet) give this short speech:
I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.
It was, for a big-shove-in-the-stomach brief moment, a very vivid walk down There and Back Again Lane…
I haven’t.
I haven’t been sleeping well lately, which is weird. It is a good kind of weird, but, sigh, I want my regular slumber hours back…
I also haven’t been writing anything lately. Not in this journal, not in my notebooks, not in the pc. Nothing. Nowhere.
I haven’t been smoking lately either. Half-sticks on a need-to-smoke basis. Maybe it’s the heat because, nothing, and I mean, nothing, beats the Tuguegarao sun.
I haven’t bought anything new for myself. I haven’t been hearing from my friends back home. I haven’t visited my lola’s grave yet. I haven’t been able to restrain myself from grinning like a total idiot for the past two weeks now.
I haven’t had the heart to kiss the-boy-with-the-cream-coloured-baseball-cap since I got back here. Now this deeply troubles me. If I did, who would I be betraying? Him? Or myself?
To betray with a kiss…
The moon at the window. How many times have I seen it? How many times do I stop and look as if I had never seen it before?
heart failed.
two moons spanned and suddenly things are missing. like that sparkle in my eye. the familiarity of your touch. that almost-automatic sense of completeness.
and what are we to make of the heart that failed to skip the required beat at the nearness of you?
right now, right beside me are long-stemmed white roses (never red) and heart-shaped balloons– arbitrary things meant to serve as reminders. reminders reminding me that i still belong to you and you to me.
do you? do i?
do forgive me for forgetting.
tomorrow, don’t forget to remind me to remember not to forget…
one sure thing amidst this blanket of incertitude.
b.-
my body misses yours.
-g.
frankly, mr. shankly, i don’t think you write awful poetry.
[mr_shankly] what time is it?
[portapop] it’s 3am here. there?
[mr_shankly] ouch. what are you doing up? i love my bed too much to leave it alone for too long.
[portapop] oh i love my bed too. but i’ve been having a hard time putting myself to sleep lately.
[mr_shankly] any reason why?
[portapop] i’m not sure. it’s just that when i lie down and close my eyes, random thoughts endlessly race through my mind. one thought immediately after another.
[portapop] you know how in movie theaters, one moment, everything’s black, and the next moment it isn’t. the screen flickers to life with one sequence after another and you have no other choice but to watch everything because you’re there already. the screen too.
[portapop] it’s worse when you sleep. with guaranteed front-row seats, the images roll faster, and the story lines seem more real.
[portapop] flicker flicker flicker.
[portapop] anyway, how bout you? how are you today?
[mr_shankly] i know how that feels…
[mr_shankly] and i’m a bit sad these days. the kind of sad that goes with missing a person who has not even left yet, but will be doing so very soon.
[portapop] i see.. someone leaving.. and someone about to be left behind.
[mr_shankly] yeah. i have this friend going to Europe. i made up a story for her and she was the story.
[portapop] that’s sweet.
[mr_shankly] a lot of times, people don’t live up to the stories i make up. but she did.
[mr_shankly] it’s like i look around and i see tears in this picture i call life. and i can peak through and see another picture.
[portapop] another picture, a lovelier one that is her.
[mr_shankly] exactly.
[mr_shankly] every June i sleep for days on end.
[portapop] why only in June?
[mr_shankly] she always leaves on a June day.
[mr_shankly] and every March i start to miss her.
aww.
