You Are Tired (I Think)

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.


Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings

Advice For Today

“I think that’s what’s wrong with the world. No one says what they feel, they always hold it inside. They’re sad, but they don’t cry. They’re happy, but they don’t dance or sing. They’re angry, but they don’t scream. Because if they do, they feel ashamed. And that’s the worst feeling in the world. So everyone walks with their heads down and no one sees how beautiful the sky is.”

(from goodmorning ang goodnight)

103

Today marks my grandfather's 103rd birthday if he were still alive.

Can you imagine being that old?

Being 30 is sometimes too much to even think about.

A Month Filled With Awesome

Pieces of April. Things seen. Places been. Stories collected.

A barefoot penitent on the way to church on a holy afternoon.

People took the streets with candles on one hand, their faiths on their sleeves.

An antique carosa carries the statue of Veronica, the woman who wiped Jesus' face with a shroud. 

A parade of women all clad in black, veiled, barefoot, with thorns and leaves on their heads. Perhaps a pagan belief that predates Christianity?

Sometime after the the Easter celebrations, I took time off to see obscure coves and places off the radar. Here's a picture of fishermen bringing a boat back to shore.

Stumbling into a seemingly forgotten and abandoned ranch. 

a woodsman with fuel for a fire for the night. 

I could easily lose hours just lying on my back and looking up at trees. It's a still image of pines in the middle of nature's ballet.

Middle of nowhere places. 

Island boy

I always thought lamps slept during the day and go to work at night..

At another village, I met these stableboys, who despite of blinding heat, managed to smile and trudge and trek up a mountain with only their sandals to cover their feet. 

Stumbled onto this town's fiesta. Aaah.. Somewhere, there's always a party happening.

One hundred and thirteen years later, I would be born after this woman's death.

Happy To Make A Bed Anywhere

I'm once again stuffing a wrangle change of shirts, a hat, a pinhole camera, coupla shorts into a backpack and taking a swing in the dark that somehow it'll all match.

But who cares, right? Where I'm going, all senses -- fashion or time-wise -- won't matter and the only thing that would, would be that I'm free and on the road again.

Tonight I'll wonder where I'll be resting my head. Perhaps my pack as pillow, my tattered copy of Gaiman, or against something that would resemble something familiar to home.

Ah, but I'll be more than happy to make a bed anywhere and equally be happy to just wake up.

Old Man and the Cafe

Grandfathers are dear to me. Everytime I see a friendly looking senior, I'm always reminded of my abuelito and how much I miss having him around.

He died when I was eight. He loved his grandchildren, that I know much. Afternoons when he was spending summer at home were my favorite. Everyday at around four, he'd pick up his cane and some loose change and he'd take me for an afternoon stroll. We loved walking around the vast empty land near our house. Back then it was just streets that lead to nowhere, wildflowers, grass, and no houses yet. We'd listen to crickets and he'd let me run up down the road, sometimes running through the dried grass that reached up to my waist. He never told me 'no,' nor told me to 'not go there' like my mother would. I knew that even if I ran and ran and ducked and ducked, he'd always be just around the bend. Or, sometimes we'd just walk and he'd ask me how was school and if I needed help in my math homework or if I had exams coming up and that I should start on my books when we get home. He was always a stickler for doing homeworks properly -- Lolo was a math teacher before he was drafted into the army to fight the Japanese. I'd always remind him that it was summer and I didn't have to study. He'd just laugh in his rich grandfatherly laugh and pat my head. I'd laugh back and hold his hand.

Now, the empty lot that held such wonderful memories of my grandpa is no more. The grass and flowers gave way to houses with fences and the roads now lead to other villages... And memories of my grandfather would crop up whenever I see old people like this guy across from me at a cafe.

I wondered briefly what my grandfather would be doing right now if he were still alive. I'm sure he'd still admonish me for not doing a better job with my math grades even years after I've graduated from university.

I wondered whether instead of homework, what kind of questions he'd ask me. Were you scared with that boat ride you took? Whatever happened to that nice boy who brought  you flowers? Did you send that post to your grandmother?

I only wish I was old enough to take him out for a cup of coffee and answer questions that would have been asked.. and to share stories of his I wouldn't have understood when I was a girl.

Blackout

No matter how small the light is, it will always beat the dark.