a quarter before i fly

sitting. watching people walk through, pass by. going. destinations. plans. their journeys for them to think of. my journey that complicates.

i leave. she leaves. everything becomes. sentimental.

trying to put myself away. everything's gone. everything will be gone.



'away' says the bug

a day opens

a fresh catch (ອ່ຽນ)


maybe it is time to move on. she bade her goodbye to him in words wrapped with equivocal mystery. it was hopeful in a sort of painful way. it was presence given, after almost two long weeks of unsure inexistence, and presence taken, an affront to the mysteries of a seeming break-up, or a regretted rejection of what would be. he felt a great loss, why must it be that dropping one thing for freedom should carry dropping everything.
what it means to drop everything to maintain that free spirit again? it was for a thorough baptism of minds, bodies and spirits, a sort of flagellation to attain some sort of nirvana or buddhahood?

he wanted so much to retain this one phase to remain and transcend the boundaries of his leaving. she dropped it, dumped it sooner than expected saying in heartfelt riddles, a harbinger of sorry and pain, the time can be to change anything to grow in the world but i believe something in myself, it means "heart" will never change me to forget you.. goodbye.

painful as it is, it never closed its doors to hope. hopeful it could be, the dire news heaved numerous sighs, a deep weary void in the chest, a loss of a visionary spirit, a curbing of the self.

maybe he should move on.

or hope still until he settles everything until mid of next and fly himself to her or what awaits him there.



it's because i can't tell anymore if i should start moving on, or could there still be a flicker of hope left which a little more patience and a lot of persistence could remedy. he wrote on a messenger window while in deep thought, struck and worried, hesitated a few seconds before hitting the return key to send his thought bubble to his good friend from another province ten hours away. i can't fly now. with a tight three weeks left. it's just not possible now. and i fear that after, i might face a loss. if that be the case, heaven forbid but find me a floater where the mekong ceases to be.

if that be the jewel you found and the jewel you're willing to give up your life with...
echoed a message from that other side. go and fly. find yourself ready for whatever might happen. it may in fact be the only way for you to find direction in your life. be it for the worst, you will move on and find another, for the best, i am sure both of you will find a compromise for a workable tryst.

he feigned a long silence, long enough for the other party to think some sort of hardware malfunction, long enough to call it a night. a long night to start thinking about the
how's and what's next.



a mug of milk tea and a cup of dark coffee
one noon til sundown then evening.

i have killed sandman for a night.


eating the lights

bear with me

cede please

almost two weeks. i still haven't heard from you. i still wait. persistently waiting, for even a minute signal of your existence. i think of you. in everything i see, i see you.

my soul travels beyond the open seas to your landlocked home to find you. i will look for you. please find me, a heart waits and longs too.

a spirit is nearly broken. a soul weeps. do take notice, for i am truly missing...



when you crave for too much power

dreaming of mongolia

i find myself stuck a day more inside my room, bearing a slight fever, a brewing sore throat, a persistent headache, and an unwanted tummy-ache. outside, i hear the patter of rainfall on galvanized rooftops and cemented walls. it feels good to have a cup of tsokolate, or a bowl of sopas... wrapped in a blanket on a humbly cushioned hard-wood bed, nursing a weakened body, mind and spirit into good health, thinking about tomorrow, dreaming of places...

i see annapurna, nepal. the vision circles and lasts long enough for me to reach the highest points of the multi-day trail.

and then my hallucinations start to take me to vast landscapes in mongolia. dreaming of mongolia...

but i go back - wrapped in my blanket on my bed, sans the hot tsokolate or sopas, bringing myself to resume a draft document, and prepare materials for a brief discussion on harassment in the workplace. what luxury time left for corporal rest i offer as sustenance to my brittled spirit and mind, and i'll dream more.

Note: Photos are screenshots in the movie Mongolian Pingpong, directed by Ning Hao

leaking out of a box

when i saw scattered rice

five entry holes


breaking chains

it comes rarely to me to liken my thought matter to a fried spatter stuck inside microwave oven walls, but it is. you should understand that memories of you, the first time i did and succeeding rare ones from rare visits, seem to be the salve i need to moisten my crisp wave-baked thought matter... and thinking how you seemed to have forgotten, with not a single ounce of affirmation as regards my existence, is a well pit of unknown depressing depths.

and i am fried... please keep still.

in a month i expect to relinquish. i am told to start disengaging on matters that require looking forward for what i will leave behind. you told me you wanted to see because you bear that semblance of me. and expecting what futures to come and freedoms of the mind to recover, i am reminded that soon be, i will be saner, carry that air of age, and see perspectives once more.

you said i needed the world as my scrapbook. you added i draw from the world what life there is to live. there is no other way to see it, and see them. i thought you are, and i said nothing.

so you started disengaging yourself from my existence as i am only starting to learn a gradual turn-over of what remains to be done, minus the distractions of matters which to anyone's ideal should no longer be partaken of someone who leaves to leave behind chains.

i try as much to weave connections.

regularly i send my warm bidding.

lately i hear nothing.

and i am fried. stricken. and broken. as such is life, and what life offers is a scrapbook of what world.


freedom in exile

as i too similarly pray for peace, altruism, love and compassion and the elimination of anger, selfishness and greed:

For as long as space endures,
And for as long as living beings remain,
Until then may I, too, abide
To dispel the misery of the world.

(freedom in exile, the dalai lama)

coffee bean and tea house


letter to...

it's raining here. weather is somehow unpredictable. the day did start quite warm and humid. while the sun was distracting, the sky did manage to celebrate its wonderful blue. it distracted the distraction. it was but a few moments ago when the skies to my left suddenly changed to overcast grey. seemed like proud tears scattered indifferently while the remaining right cautiously retreated further.

melancholy covered me. the last time i saw something similar to this, there was awe - faced with the east and the west of a wide southern sea sunset - it was darkness eating the remaining light. now is different. it is a child in a sadness womb.

i pray this darkness does not find where you are now.


when rain marks his leaving

forlorn clouds collide,
as each tree lowers its boughs
to departing souls.