red earth and melons

it must have been 20 or so kilometres away from the city morning market. the expectation was that the wedding was to take place only a few or so walking distance.

the distance covered a flurry of red earth and dust and also lines of watermelons. the distance back covered nothing more than a fevered night alone and a morning trip back to work.

taking nothing back but a flurry of flying red dust and longing memories of watermelons, anytime soon is a flight back home.


off he goes [v]

once again i found myself riding a long bus ride to the north eastern sections of the sub-region - not too far, a measly few hours away over almost leveled not so winding cemented highways - but nonetheless a clear diversion from the all too demanding constraints of work.

he left one friday evening, i was told. i followed suit, maybe an hour or two hours after. he was on his way, i heard, to assess the realities of maintaining the status quo. believe or not, the status was already one debris away from cascading, and not even an attempt to maintain may be able to bind what is bound to dissipate. i was for what could be best. i still went. but for something different.

they were waiting.


i almost died today

we grew up celebrating today as a day to remember the departed, taking time off from work and holiday to spend moments recalling moments with loved ones we'll never see again in our lifetime. and i could have died.

in a fit of irrational anxiety, he felt the world turn its back on him, and in return, himself in a catatonic resignation.

apparently she was still waiting. a note. a call. a message. or even just a semblance of a sign from the heavens that he still exists, that his affection still lingers, albeit in slow and erratic installments. she taught herself restraint. and patience.

i was waiting. maybe for a message. a tag. an upload. mail. or even a missed call. just any sign that she might still be there. my affectations have always been restrained. and i am always paralyzed by the indecision of roaming free and settling down. i know my quirks and my fits. still i waited, exercising the knowingly doomed outcome from being virtuously patient.

we travelled a group. when we celebrated, i found myself caged amidst a flurry of ill-translated words of a language that my anxious and tired brain could no longer intake. i lost my patience within. i allowed a dark brooding omen to take hold of my life. i almost died.

he closed his eyes - focusing that everything else should be immaterial. he opened them. they were talking and laughing. they were preoccupied with what strings they have found themselves to be related. he had no strings with them. he was fast becoming a fiction. he closed his eyes - she was looking at him, without longing nor despise, no tears, not even a smile. seemingly in a tunnel far far away inside his closed eyes, she was just looking.