I’m daydreaming again. There’s just something about this place that makes dreaming so easy.

29 08 2011

I can see it now, babe, our life together.

Like the first morning I wake up with you. There will be that odd feeling at first, you know: disorientation. Something’s different, I think to myself behind closed eyes, still sleepy but puzzled. Then it dawns on me.

“Oh my God,” I gasp out loud. ”I’m married.”

Wide awake now, I turn my head to find you beside me, smiling. You’re trying not to laugh, I can tell.

“Good morning,” you whisper, in that voice that I’ve had the biggest crush on from the start.

“I’m your wife,” I inform you, like this is news somehow.

You give up on holding the chuckles back.

“Yes,” you laugh, pulling me close. “And I’m your husband.”

That vital piece of information gets lost in the pleasure of snuggling deeper into your arms. My favorite place in the world, sweetly familiar on this life-changing day.

“It feels strange,” I admit to your chest, the only part of you that I can see. You’re holding me so tightly I couldn’t look up, but I don’t want any space between us. Not even the tiniest bit.

“Being married?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, but the feeling is wearing off as I focus on the beat of your heart. Another familiar thing.

“Bad strange?” you ask, ready to reassure me. You’ve always done that, calmed me down when I over think myself into a panic. You’ve talked down my walls until the only thing keeping me safe is the certainty that you will never, never, never take your love away.

I consider all of that, as well as your question, and I realize that there’s nothing to over think. This is you. This is us. We get to keep each other forever. And on the heels of that thought comes a great big booming burst of joy inside my chest. Fireworks, babe. Cheers and confetti and a big brass band. The biggest smile of my life growing inside my heart. I’m married. To you.

“No,” I say, wanting to jump up and bounce on the bed, except I don’t really want to leave your arms. “Wonderful strange. The bestest and happiest kind.” Can you feel my smile against your skin?

And then you turn my face up, and you see it for yourself, all the happiness in my eyes. It has to show — I don’t think my body can keep that much joy a secret. I don’t  mind. I want you to know all the deepest things written in my soul. I love you. I choose you. I choose you over fear, over self-protection, over doubt. I choose you for the rest of my life, for always. Completely. Irrevocably. No one else.

When you kiss me, I can feel those same words in every touch of your lips. All the words you’ve said over and over, even long before I was brave enough to say them back. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Never stop believing that I do.

As I start to lose myself, I realize one thing. Every morning, from this day forward, will begin like this. And suddenly, that doesn’t feel strange anymore. It feels right. It’s the rightest thing in the world, waking up beside you. It’s the only way I want to wake up for the rest of my life.

Until someday, my love.

Wait for me as I wait for you.


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Categories : For you, Future Mr. Right, Love, The Cuyo Detour

David

10 08 2011

You know what I found this morning, in a long-unopened compartment of my wallet? It was a letter from you, dated several years and a lifetime ago. Tucked into the folds were three balayong blossoms, dry and fragile from being pressed for so long. You loved me then, I remember. You recorded these promises for posterity, so that I can read them over and over again and know what I meant to you. And then you changed your mind.

Dammit, David. How can I still be hurting over this now? People’s hearts get broken every day. People get left behind, and people move on. So why the heck am I here, plenty of time and plenty of adventures later, crying over sheets of paper that no longer hold anything real? It’s not like I spent my days wallowing in heartbreak. Eventually, I stopped missing you or even thinking about you. I loved, I laughed, I engaged. I did things that matter. I grew up a little every day, and I stopped wanting you back. You are no longer a part of my life — most of the time.

But some days just catch me off guard. It could be the little details, like the sight of my own palm, messy with squiggles and lines whenever I write with a ballpoint pen. I can almost hear your exasperated laugh,  almost see you trying to figure out why the ink that should have landed on paper ended up on my hand instead.  Or it could be the big things, David, the wounds received in the process of living.  Somehow, every goodbye is still an echo of yours, every person walking away steps in your footprints until they are out of sight. And suddenly there would be tears flooding my throat all over again. After all this freaking time.

So here I am today, writing on tear-soaked paper, thinking that’s enough. That’s more than enough. I want to love again like I loved you, in spite of risk, in spite of fear. Loving you taught me just how much I could give and how far I can go, and I don’t want to lose that. I want to offer myself again to someone, the right someone. You didn’t stay, David, but someone else will. Someone else deserves this misguided intensity of emotion that I wasted on you, long after you didn’t want it anymore.

I’ve always been the one who remembers. In a way, I’ve come to accept that, the inability to really forget what was once important. The memories will remind me to be careful, but I could stand to let go of the souvenirs. It’s been over for so long. This is the part, I think, where I stop letting it hurt.


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Categories : Love, Post A Week Challenge, Swirl of Thoughts, The Cuyo Detour

Story of a boy

5 08 2011

“Manang, anuno imong ingbubuat?”

I pulled myself away from my thoughts and looked up at the kid, around 12 years old, who appeared in front of me as I sat on my usual spot at the beach, writing and listening to music. It took a bit of effort, with my limited Cuyonon, to figure out that he wanted to know what I was doing.

“Nagsusulat lang,” I replied with a smile, recognizing him to be one of the two boys who had shyly hovered around the other day until one of them got up the courage to come up and ask my name. Apparently content to discover that the newcomer who was always sitting alone by the sea was named Abigail, they’d both drifted off eventually.

But  this afternoon, there were more of them, and they huddled in a group at some distance behind me, animatedly conversing in rapid Cuyonon as the representative returned and reported that I said I was “just writing”. After a while, he reappeared.

“Anong sinusulat mo?” He was switching to Tagalog now to make it easier for me.

They wanted to know what I was writing. I discarded the idea of trying to explain the concept of blogging, so I stuck with, “Yung mga naiisip ko lang”. Just my thoughts.

His forehead creased at this reply, and he went back to the others. I waited to see what the next question would be. After some time, and some laughter and teasing (boys’ mischief sounds the same in any language), he was back.

“May gusto raw makipagkilala.” Someone wants to meet you.

Ah. Apparently, the issue of my literary endeavor has been abandoned for something more interesting.

“Okay.” This answer earned a grin, and he was off again like a shot.

A little later:

“Pwede raw ba ngayon?” Could he do it now?

I laughed. I couldn’t help it, this was too cute. “Sure,” I smiled.

He returned, sooner than I expected, and alone. “Pwede raw ba siyang lumapit?” Can he come up and approach you?

Adorable. I tried my very best not to laugh again. “Oo naman,” I assured him. Of course he could come close. The ridiculous image of Queen Esther and the king in reverse popped into my head.

While I was waiting for whoever it was to get his fill of encouragement from his buddies, MYMP’s Torpe Song #5 came up on my phone’s playlist. I looked at it in disbelief, then hurriedly set it to mute. The poor kid might think I was mocking him.

The footsteps that came up behind me were heavier than I expected, and I turned to see a teenaged boy older than the others. He sat on the grass with me and extended his hand.

“Ako nga pala si Manuel San Diego*,” he said, blushing furiously. His hand was cold and more than a little damp.

Tall, dark, and lanky, Manuel so strongly reminded me of my 14-year-old brother Joshua that I wanted to give him a hug and ruffle his hair. I wanted to lend him my handkerchief for his perspiration. I wanted to give him pointers on how to talk to girls. Instead, I settled for smiling and telling him my name, though I’m sure he already knew.

Manuel floundered about for a while, trying to make awkward conversation that I gamely joined in. His resemblance to my little brother was giving me a funny sort of tenderness, and I didn’t want him to be embarrassed. However, when his supporters behind us started calling out the words “cellphone number”, I decided it was time to make a graceful exit.

Taking my leave as nicely as I could, I told him I had somewhere to go. “It was nice to meet you, Manuel,” I said sincerely, hoping he could take a sense of confidence from the encounter.

Heading towards the sea, I remembered being that age, not too long ago, when attraction was awkward and embarrassing, but also simple and fun. The games that grown ups played, the games that I could never master, seemed needlessly difficult and complicated.  I was sorry to leave my spot on the beach, and sorry to feel disappointed eyes on me as I walked away, but I was the wrong age for Manuel. I’m the wrong age, I think, for anyone right now.

 * name changed


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Wildflower chains and the things people forget

3 08 2011

Some things you forget. Like how to make a chain of wildflowers, how to twist and tie the stems so that you don’t break them or crush the petals, until you have a long enough string of blooms to loop into a necklace or a crown.

FOUND: yellow and white pieces my of childhood

You can always go back and learn it again. Remembering how much fun it used to be, you gather flowers on a handkerchief, already relishing the childlike, uncomplicated pleasure of the task. You try to be careful, but it’s trickier than you expected, and the stems keep breaking in your hands. But so what? There’s a whole field of wildflowers around you, and there are hundreds to spare.  You lose nothing by letting yourself fail until you get it right.

These poor things had to bear my clumsiness.

Sometimes, though, you forget bigger stuff, things that are more complex and so much more important. Things like how to let yourself be loved.

It takes a different kind of courage, you see, than simply loving someone. Accepting love comes with the risk of relying on someone else’s heart, someone else’s understanding of who you are and what you’re worth. They might be mistaken, or  they might change their minds, but if you’re brave  you’ll believe them anyway and let them love you. You’ll let them love you on the good days, when you know how to love them back. And you’ll even let them love you on the bad days, when you feel unworthy or empty or self-destructive, because you trust that it won’t scare them away.

It used to be so effortless for you before, but it’s surprisingly easy to forget something even as essential as that. All it takes is one too many mistakes, one too many times when you realize that vulnerability isn’t safe. Heartbreak happens, and you learn the devastating lessons of fear, which crowd out everything you knew about being brave. Self-protection is an easy habit to fall into, and a difficult one to break.

I wonder how you can go about relearning courage. There are no hearts to spare, no infinite number of breaks that you can endure without consequence. Too much that is fragile and precious is at stake. So how can you do it, then? How can you learn how to let yourself be loved all over again?

I think I might be slowly starting to get this right.


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Categories : Bipolar Disorder, Love, Swirl of Thoughts, The Cuyo Detour

Of doppelgangers, accidental meetings, and letting go

26 07 2011

It’s insane how much you look like my first love. You walked up to me on the seashore early one morning, and the shock of recognition was followed by a strong sense of disorientation. What are you doing here, Alex? I thought. Here, of all places, in my somewhere else. When you said something (it was about the sunrise, I think, but I was still too unsettled to remember), I realized that you weren’t him, just someone who looked remarkably similar. Several days of running into each other, and sort of becoming friends, haven’t dulled the resemblance. You even move like him, for goodness’ sake.

You made me surprise myself, you know. There was a time, long ago, when any reminder of him would have hurt, or felt bittersweet. Not anymore. I take pleasure in your smile, that wonderfully familiar grin that automatically makes me want to smile back, and it takes me back to the laughter that made me fall in love. There’s a feeling of being in two places when I’m with you: one in which I’m enjoying your company, and another where I’m wandering in the past. None of this is painful, just odd and funny and surprisingly easy. Twice, I almost called you by his name, just luckily catching myself in time. It’s a double world I’m living in, and meeting you has taken me there.

This isn’t really about you, I’m sorry. I don’t truly know who you are beneath your likeness to another man. There isn’t enough time to find out, because you’re leaving the island soon. We’re both transients here, you and I, and it’s a funny twist of fate that brought us together that day under the sunrise.

I think it’s okay, that we won’t really get to know each other. Perhaps our meeting is a gift, one that I needed more than I realized. You showed me that I have what it takes to move on. I have a problem with that, you see, with moving on. I linger at the spot of every important goodbye, watching the person walk away until the final glimpse is gone, hoping for one last backwards glance. I’m never the first to turn away; I’m always the one who’s haunted. Meeting you, enjoying the ease of looking into eyes that take me back to a different time, have reminded me that even if it takes longer than most, I do move on. Maybe I never forget, but I can eventually remember without pain. And that gives me hope.

When you go, I won’t ever see you again. You’ll be one of those significant strangers, the ones who stay just a little while but leave a lasting imprint. In this case, I think you’ll take away something, too, the fear that I have a heart that doesn’t heal. It’s enough. It’s more than I thought a stranger can give, but that’s what you did, even if you didn’t know it. Thank you. I won’t ever get to say this out loud, but thank you.


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Categories : Love, The Cuyo Detour

The other side of someday

9 05 2011

I want to watch the rain with you. I want to cuddle on the couch with a blanket, a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows, and you. We’ll open the window a little bit so that the smell of rain can come in, but I won’t be cold. With your arms around me, I’ll be in the safest place I’ve ever been, surrounded by your strength. It’s the only home I’ll ever need.

I want to go camping on the beach, on an island that we can have to ourselves. We’ll put up a tent and wake up early enough to catch the sunrise, and run on sand untouched by any other feet. At night, we’ll light a fire and watch the stars and the fireflies, but it’ll be the hardest thing in the world to think of wishes. What more can I ask for? You’re more than I ever dreamed I could have.

I want to walk with you, too, to everywhere and nowhere in particular. City sidewalks, lamp-lit boulevards, and long-forgotten trails — we’ll explore them together. We’ll duck into old secondhand book stores, try new cafes, or have a picnic under the trees. But the best part of these adventures won’t be how far we went, but the steps we took closer to each other. I’ll never get tired of discovering the man who won my heart.

But mostly, I just want to be with you. To hear you promise your love and trust that you mean it. To confess how I need you and know that vulnerability is okay. To look at you and see you looking at me and know that you’re thinking: “Wow. We really get to spend our lives together.” I’ll be thinking it, too. Because after all the false starts, babe, after all the wrong turns that broke my heart… I still believe you’ll come. I still believe you’ll find me.


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Categories : For you, Future Mr. Right, Love

Every ounce of confidence I have

2 03 2011

I don’t know how to swim.

If you knew that I grew up on a tropical island, this would be even more surprising.

You see, I almost drowned when I was  a child, and the memory of it was seared into my brain: overwhelming panic, an acute, painful longing for air, a desperate reaching for anything that could save me. Even the rescue left me weak, as the adrenalin drained from my body. I never wanted to feel that way again.

So even though I loved the sea, I loved it in a safe way: peering into the tidal pools, wading in the shallows, looking for shells on the shore.  I stayed away from the depths.

Until that summer.

He took me there, to the island where he grew up. And despite my caution, I could feel myself being drawn closer to him. For the nth time, I wondered when I would stop being afraid of what I wanted.

The gorgeous beach in that sleepy little town reminded me of home. His childhood friends were there, too, enjoying the sugar-fine sand, the crashing waves, and a sky so blue you wouldn’t believe it. Tired from the beach games, I lay on the shore by the waterline, eyes closed, feeling the sunlight on my lids, letting the waves caress my body, letting my hand float a little bit closer to where his upturned palm waited. Closer.

The world moved around us.

Shouts of “Hey, you two!” and “Come on!” intruded upon the sleepy rhythm of the waves. We sat up to see the sky no longer blue, but an equally unbelievable shade of radiant orange.  The whole universe was a temptation to fall in love.

His friends were laughing and calling to us, beckoning as they made their way to the nearby cliff. It was their favorite jump-off point, he told me, with the water below just deep enough for the 20-foot dive. We hurried to catch up.

When we got there, we were greeted by the most stunning vista imaginable. A golden, glowing sun hung just above the horizon,  so extravagantly glorious that my heart literally skipped a beat. Seriously, the universe was out doing itself. The group’s high spirits kicked up a notch.

Kevin went first, inexplicably yelling “Happy birthday!” as he jumped. (His birthday was in December.)

Larissa was more graceful, her flawless dive silhouetted against the dazzling sun for one captivating moment.

Javier and Elena jumped together, holding hands and laughing, then sputtering as they splashed into the darkening water.

We were the only ones left. He stepped onto the edge, grinned, and said, “You have to do this, too.” Then he dived.

“What? No! Wait—” But I was talking to empty space. Gingerly, I stepped closer to the edge and looked down. They seemed impossibly far away, treading the waves.

“David, I can’t swim!” I called down, wondering if he’d forgotten.

“I’m right here,” he shouted back. “I’ll get you as soon as you hit the water.”

My heart was pounding too hard to reply to that. Swimming in deep water was one thing, falling into it from a height of twenty feet was an entirely different level of dread.

The others were also shouting encouragement, but his was the only voice that made it past the buzzing in my ears.

“Abby? Come on, before it gets dark. I don’t want you to miss this.”

“I can’t!” My knees had started shaking.  The shimmering edge of the sun touched its reflection in sea.

” You’re safe; I promise. Abby, I promise.”

I stood there, a breathtaking sunset before me, an incredible man waiting in the water below, and twenty feet of fear and empty air in between. A lifetime of cowardice suddenly seemed awfully exhausting.

I tried to call out a warning, but my throat was too tight. I simply jumped.

And fell.

And fell.

Just because he promised.

Before I knew it, I plunged into the water, nothing but the deep unknown under my feet. Then I was pulled into his arms.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay.” I will remember that smile for the rest of my life.

Sheer exhilaration made me laugh. “Let’s do it again!”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The brilliant beyond brilliant writers at Indie Ink have come up with the Indie Ink Writing Challenge, which I’m joining for the first time. This week, the lovely Jen O. gave me my prompt: A moment of living dangerously.  Just a moment. As prompts go, it was perfect for making me write about something I never would have thought of myself. Thanks, Jen!


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And here I thought I was the only one who wrote letters to the future

25 02 2011

So there’s this guy. He has a blog. He writes to his future wife.

Even though I’ve written to my future husband several times, I didn’t think guys were into that, too.

He says things like, “I want to hear how you say my name… in various instances. I want to be able to tell that it is your favourite thing to say. And that it spills out over your lovely lips so damn naturally because you’ve been annoying your friends by saying it to them all the time.”

And  “I’d like to have kids. You know, with you. I can almost see already how it will unfold. I think our first baby will be a boy. And I’ll hope, with every ounce of my being, that when he finds someone to spend his life with, he’ll be half as lucky as I’ve been.”

I stayed awake the whole night reading. And afterwards, I still couldn’t sleep, because his words had peeled the protective crust off my heart, and all my deepest, most honest longings lay throbbing and naked on the surface.

I want to be loved like that. I want someone who will write letters on paper, and stage a sock puppet show when I’m sick, and promise me cupcakes for breakfast to get me to fall asleep at night. I want to share root beer popsicles, and cuddle in bed, and kiss while making dinner. I want to be cherished, not just needed.

And I need to love someone like that. Someone who will receive all the tenderness I have to offer and never stop seeing it as a gift. Someone who will let me give myself and find joy in the giving, because I’m not afraid that anything will be taken for granted.

Someone who will never make me feel invisible. Someone who will never let me go.

Just thinking about it makes me giddy.

Just thinking about it makes me terrified.

Because, who am I kidding, it’s one thing to write letters to the perfect girl, and it’s a completely different thing to meet…me.

I used to think waiting for the right man to come along was difficult. Now I know it’s gotta be harder when he finally comes. Because then I — the messy, complicated reality of me — would have to stand up to this man who’s been dreaming of his ideal girl all his life and say, “Hi. It’s me that you’ve been looking for.”

And, for all my imagination, I haven’t yet figured out what he will say to that.


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Categories : For you, Future Mr. Right, Love, Singleness, Swirl of Thoughts

Before and After

20 02 2011

I used to know the exact moment you walked into a room. I would feel you there, and I’d turn, and a sense of peacefulness would grow inside me, immediately, without exception. I could be hurting or afraid; it didn’t matter. Your presence meant that no matter what was wrong, there was still something right.

Now it’s all too easy to pretend you’re not there. To see a photograph and look at everyone but you. The longer I could look away, the more it meant that the obsession was over.

I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

 

(This is a response to the 100 words challenge in Velvet Verbosity. The word for the week was “within”.)


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Categories : 100 Words, Flash Fiction, Love, Writing Prompts

Another Letter for My Future Husband

14 02 2011

Beloved,

It’s been almost four years since I first wrote you a letter, and so much has changed. Four years isn’t a long time, but reading that letter feels like a glimpse into another life. In a lot of ways, I am a different person today.

I still love you. That much remains the same. I am still waiting, and I still have faith that you will find me someday. But that someday seems farther away now than it did four years ago, and I can no longer see it clearly.

So much has happened. And someday I will tell you all about it; I will cry in your arms and tell you about the hurt and the heartbreak and the confusion that have me stumbling now, hesitant to come closer to you because I would not have you see me like this.

There are some battles yet that I have to win on my own before I can face you. I don’t want to give myself to you broken; I want to be able to love you with a heart that is whole and brave and unafraid.

But I will still need you. There are struggles that I cannot face alone, and I want you there. I need you there, and I need to know that you will not leave halfway through. I need to know that you will fight for me, even when the enemy is myself.

And perhaps I may need to fight for you, as well. Perhaps we both have walls that need to be broken down before we can belong together. When that time comes, I want to be strong enough and wise enough not to run away.

Until then, darling, wait for me. Wait with me. Our time will come, love, when we are both ready. But even now, no matter what, I love you. I love you not knowing who you are, or where you are, or whether you are thinking of me at all. I love you not knowing when I will be with you. Because one thing I do know: no matter how many times I stumble on this road, you are walking this path, too, and in the perfect time, you will find me.

Yours,

Abigail


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Categories : For you, Future Mr. Right, Love, Open Letters

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